Kryptonite
by Wynter Spite
Summary: A fanfic filled with dozens of other Supernatural fanfics that I never finished. Some of 'em will be over two thousand words, others a little over one hundred. Or less. They have interesting ideas, though. First chapter: Dean's dead, killed by Metatron. So then why is he suddenly floating around the hospital he last saw after his father was possessed by the Yellow-Eyed Demon?
1. Kryptonite

**AN: So, this is gonna be a document filled with most of the Supernatural fanfics that my twin sister and I never finished. Some of them will be short, some of them with at least two chapters. Feel free to adopt any of the stories you read, ya only have to email me if you want to. Just, y'know, enjoy.**

**Warnings: Bit of language, as is expected of the Winchesters. **

**Disclaimer: In a sad bout of horrific coincidence, neither I nor my sister own Supernatural or it's charming-several evil, but still charming-characters. We share this distressing news with a solemn air, asking that you don't turn away with a cynical snort as you're clearly wont to do.**

**Thank you.**

**I'm sure that, if my sister and I had, by some glorious miracle, owned Supernatural, you'd have been glad for us and not-I repeat, _not_-come at us with numerous weapons and undisguised ill intent. I'm sure of it.**

* * *

_("I'm proud of us.")_

* * *

Dean was dead.

_Again._

"This sucks out loud," he complained.

Understatement.

He was in a hospital, for some reason. A familiar one. Funny, he didn't remember any hospitals in Metatron's warehouse.

He moved out of the strangely empty room and down the hall. No one seemed to see him. No one heard him or felt him.

This was just getting creepy.

He was walking passed a door when he heard Sammy's voice. _Thank God._ He stepped inside, and immediately froze where he stood.

There Sam was, sitting on the edge of a hospital bed, talking calmly to John _'Not As Dead As You Thought I Was'_ Winchester.

Dean could have sworn that was _his_ specialty. What, did he go back in time or something? Did a Djinn get him? A witch?

He waved his hands at his brother and father. "Hello, need some freakin' help here. I'm kind of dead right now, so you might experience some emotional difficulty . . ."

They ignored him.

Family. You just couldn't choose it.

"Listen, Sammy," Dean started, "I'm sorry about just dyin' on you like that . . ."

No answer.

"Dude. Here I am, all ready for a stupid chick-flick moment, and you snub me?"

Still no answer.

"I sold my soul for you lot!" he exclaimed. "And this is how you repay me?"

Great. Now he sounded like Crowley.

Awesome.

"Dad, man, I totally consorted with all kinds of demons. Oh, and angels. And one vampire. Okay, two."

John didn't even bat an eyelash.

"Also a few werewolves. And witches. And skinwalkers. and fairies. And we stole a baby shifter once." He paused. "I'm creeping myself out."

There was no reply.

"We lost Sam's soul for a whole year. But that's okay. I made a deal with Death to get it back."

Not even a twitch.

"We met your dad. He fell out of our closet. He brought a Knight of Hell with him, but we cut off her head. Then we sewed it back on, which brought her back to life, and I had to kill her with the First Blade, which I borrowed from Cain. He's a beekeeper. Also, Azazel's daughter took care of our angel for a while when he was insane with visions of Lucifer."

Nothing.

"Hey, Sam, have I ever told you the one where I brought an angel to a brothel? I swear he was more scared of the hookers than he was of the apocalypse we started."

Okay, this was getting him nowhere.

_"See me!"_ he shouted, sounding a hell of a lot like some kind of cheap movie villain. What was happening to him?

"Sam, if you just look at me a little, I'll never complain about researching ever again." It was a lie, but hey, you couldn't blame him for it.

Sam didn't even glance at him.

To tell the truth, it was starting to make him feel a little desperate. He sat down beside Sam, his expression defeated. _"Sammy_ . . ."

A shiver ran down his brother's spine. "Does it feel cold to you, Dad?"

John's dark eyes sharpened. "No, it doesn't. You feeling a chill, Sammy?"

"It's Sam," Dean and Sam said together, automatically.

John gave him a puzzled look. "I always call you Sammy."

"I, uh . . ." Sam trailed off, expression confused. "Yeah . . ."

"Dudes, are you telling me that you don't even remember me?"

"So can we leave soon?" Sam asked, changing the subject.

"Yeah, the doctor said you were free to go."

"You don't, do you," Dean said flatly. "You don't remember me."

Sam got off the bed and nodded to John. "I'm ready if you are."

"Let's go," his father said.

"You guys suck."

* * *

They never noticed when he slid into the backseat of their borrowed car. God, he hated sitting in the backseat. It was like Hell all over again, only worse, because his baby was once again messed up because some hellspawn demon (shut up, he didn't care if the two words were redundant) had decided to trash it with a hellspawn truck after just fighting a yellow-eyed hellspawn that had possessed his father and now they were going to have to kill all the other hellspawn again, too.

The world hated him.

After a moment, though Dean found that he could turn the radio on or off and play any song he wanted, even if there wasn't a tape that went with it.

Naturally, he played "_Back in Black_", all the while thanking God that he wasn't.

He'd heard what Crowley had said to him while he was busy being dead. Bastard. At least he didn't have to worry about the First Blade or Metatron or the Leviathans anymore.

Benny, though . . . he was still in Purgatory. Still fighting, still killing, all alone. Probably getting a bit desperate, too. He wouldn't call Dean _'Brother'_ or find out about his Andrea, wouldn't even know how he'd saved Dean from becoming something no one would have liked, least of all himself.

Cas may have pulled him from Perdition, but Benny was the one who pulled him from Purgatory.

And Cas was in Heaven. He didn't know about the angels and their plans for the Apocalypse. He didn't know how to be his own person yet.

Kevin . . . God, Kevin was alive somewhere, being an even worse geek than Sam, if that was even possible. Charlie was probably working under another false name, unaware of all the monsters in the darkness, paying for her mother to sleep on in her coma, continually reading The Hobbit to her and hoping . . . just _hoping._

He had a chance to fix things, if someone could just see him.

He sighed deeply. There was nothing else he could do. Someone had to watch out for Sammy. Someone had to protect him. Someone had to be there, even when he wanted to be alone.

After all, that was what big brothers were for.

* * *

It was on a hunt a week later that Dean possessed a shapeshifter.

He hadn't meant to do it, but he'd known that the thing would come after Sam because there was no way it'd get the drop on John, and even though he knew that Sammy was one of the best hunters out there, it just seemed like everything was trying to break his brother apart and it was too much, too much too much _toomuch_ to live with and they shouldn't have to live with it, no one was meant for this and so he stopped it.

Before he'd even taken over the shifter and basically extinguished its existence, it had shed its skin and become, well, Dean. It was an involuntary action, and Dean was damn glad he looked like himself. He didn't think he could take staring into a mirror and seeing some kind of midget or something (_yes, thank you, Sam, 6'1" is not midget-sized_).

Now he here he was, standing in front of his father and brother as they aimed their guns at him.

"Oh, come _on_," he complained. "Can't I ever catch a break? Look, guys, I don't want any trouble or anything."

"Tell that to four disappearances," John said.

"That wasn't me."

John snorted. "Right."

"No, seriously. It was the vengeful spirit you completely forgot about when you found me."

His father looked at him skeptically.

Dean sighed. "Look, I just want my brother back, okay? That's all I want." Also to maybe stop an apocalypse or two, but he didn't think mentioning that would win him any points.

"Shit. There's two of you?"

"No."

"Where is he?"

Dean paused, glanced away. "He died." It wasn't a lie. Sammy really had died. More than once.

He saw Sam twitch. "Hey, you okay there?"

"I'm fine," his brother said automatically.

"Dude, you're a terrible liar."

"I'm really not."

"Says you. Have you ever seen yourself lie?"

"Well, no-"

"Aha!"

"Hey, people believe me readily enough."

"Do they? Do they really?"

Sam frowned. "Of course they do."

"Are you sure?"

He rolled his eyes. "Don't be a jerk."

"Bitch."

Sam snorted.

John stared at them.

Whoops. Honestly, how do you forget that there's a gun aimed at you by your own father? Apparently, very easily.

There was something seriously wrong with him. Well, something more wrong than the obvious.

"Sam, we're leaving," John said without taking his eyes off Dean the Shifter.

"I'm coming with you," Dean said instantly.

"How about we kill you first?"

"Oh, hell, again? Do you have to?"

"What?"

"Dying," Dean said dolefully. "Major waste of time, if you ask me."

"Dying . . . is a waste of time," John echoed flatly.

He thought about it. ". . . yep. Can we just skip that part?"

"You're a shifter. You think I'm going to just let you leave?"

Dean met John's gaze steadily. "I'm not going to kill any human beings. I don't want to just leave, I want to come with you."

"Why?"

He couldn't stop himself from looking at Sam. His eyes softened when they fell on his brother, though he wasn't aware of it. "I'm not like all those other monsters you've met. I want to stop them, not join them."

"Why?" Sam repeated John's question.

"They're assholes?" he offered.

Neither of the hunters were amused.

"What? It's true."

"Look," Sam began, then paused.

"Dean."

"Dean, I just want to know why," his brother said sincerely.

"I just want to help you," he murmured. "I do. But Sam, I can't help you if you won't let me."

"You know my name?"

"Well, yeah." His lips quirked. "The famous Winchesters." His smile turned bitter. "Yeah, I know you. So do a lot of demons. And let me tell you, they want you bad, Sam." He nodded to John. "He's pretty popular _down_ _u__nder_, too."

Sam frowned. "What do they want us for?"

"Well . . . oh. Oh, shit." Dean felt his eyes widen slightly as, for the first time, he realized that either there wasn't going to be an apocalypse, the demons knew who he was, or there was a different Righteous Man somewhere in the world. _Shit._

"What is it?" Sam asked, brows coming together with concern.

Dean turned to his father. "Listen, uh . . . _John_," he forced the name out, strange and unfamiliar on his tongue, "I don't want to alarm you or anything, but that demon you've been hunting? He's going to do a hell of a lot to get to Sam."

John's dark eyes hardened. "Well, he can't have him."

"You know that and I know that, but does he?"

"Why are you telling us this?" Sam asked. "You don't owe us anything."

"You remind me of my brother," he told him.

Sam seemed surprised. "I do?"

Dean gave him a lopsided smile that was slightly sad and a bit ironic and completely genuine. "Oh, yeah."

"Oh." Sam looked just a bit flustered. "You two were close?"

"I'd do anything for him," Dean admitted. "Anything."

They looked at each other for a moment.

"Let's move on," John interrupted. He looked at Dean. "You're coming with us. But if you try something . . ."

"You'll toss me like bad Chinese takeout, I know."

"Really, Dean? Did you have to put it like that?" Sam said, exasperated.

"Did I upset your delicate sensibilities, Sammy?"

"Why are we taking you with us, again?"

"'Cause I'm just that adorable."

"Adorable? No. Insufferable, on the other hand . . ."

Dean gave him a stupid grin. "You used a big word. I didn't understand it."

Sam's lips twitched. "You're unbelievable."

"I know," Dean said modestly.

John shook his head and walked out to the Impala.

Dean gestured to the door. "Gigantor."

Sam stepped out. "Midget."

"I'm six-one. That's not short, okay? You're just freakishly tall."

"Seriously? Wow. I could've sworn you were at least five-ten."

"Really not liking you right now."

Sam slid into passenger seat. "Please. You love me."

Dean snorted, getting into the car. "In your dreams."

But he did. Love him, that is.

And the only way he was finding that out was with an amazingly creative assortment of torture implements.

"We should stop by the diner on our way out of town," Sam suggested. "Maybe get some pie."

"You're my favorite person ever and I love you," Dean said instantly.

Or pie. Pie worked pretty well, too.

* * *

**Next up: ****Sam and Dean find themselves in a hotel room, which they can't remember paying for or even walking into. Something strange is going on here, and they're going to find out what it is.**

_**Weird Randomness!**_

0000

"I love you. I love you more than life itself. I love you like tricksters love to play tricks. I love you like hearts love to beat. I-"

"Stop talking to the pie, Dean."

_"No._ Mrs. Applepie and I are going to be together forever."

"Or for the next five minutes."

"You're just jealous."

"Of . . . what, exactly?"

"Our profound bond."

0000

Somewhere up in Heaven, Castiel felt inexplicably alone.

0000

Gabriel sneezed. The force blew out the brakes of a nearby car. Later, people would scream.

0000

Dean suddenly felt overwhelmingly guilty. Then he took a bite of his pie and he got better.

0000


	2. Identity Crisis

**AN: Well, here we are, at the second chapter and not nearly finished. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Supernatural, no matter how many dreams I have where I'm Sam, and, by some beautiful result, taller than my Dean-sister.**

**Summary: Sam and Dean find themselves in a hotel room, which they can't remember paying for or even walking into. Something strange is going on here, and they're going to find out what it is.**

* * *

Dean blinked.

"What the hell?"

He was standing in . . . a motel room? He'd been knocked out by . . . _something_ . . . when he and Sam had been walking back to Bobby's place, and now he was standing in a motel room.

What was wrong with this picture? Well, besides the cherry wallpaper.

"Dean?"

He turned to see Sam standing behind him, looking very confused. "What . . . ?"

"I dunno what happened, Sammy. One minute I was unconscious, now I'm here." He paused. "You okay?"

"I'm fine, Dean. You?"

"I'm fine. You remember what happened?"

Sam shook his head. "I remember walking back to the motel with you, but not what happened next."

"Yeah, me neither."

Sam glanced around the room, brow furrowing in that way he had that made him look like a sorrowful, sympathetic puppy in need of care and comfort.

No wonder no one ever refused those sad, sad eyes.

"You're a weapon of mass destruction, Sam," Dean said aloud.

Sammy looked at him oddly. "What?"

"You're lethal."

"Dean."

"Dangerous to the hearts of men and women everywhere."

"_Dean_," Sam said in a familiar tone of exasperation.

He shrugged, then stopped to look at his brother. "You doing okay, Sam?"

"I said I'm fine," his brother said, exasperated.

"Not seeing Lucifer or anything?"

Sam shook his head. "Nothing so far. Don't worry about me, Dean, I'll be fine."

Don't worry about him? Dean wondered if Sam had hit his head. "Dude . . . you sure you're okay?" _'Cause You seem to be under the (wrong)_ _impression that I actually stop worrying at one point or another. Seriously, do you not know me at all?_

Maybe Sam had gotten a concussion from the fall or something.

Bastards. He'd hunt them down and make them pay for that. He was so gonna rip their lungs ou-

"Dean?"

"Huh? Nothing," he said guiltily, snapping out of it.

Sam looked at him suspiciously. "Riiight."

Dean changed the subject. "Should we get out of here?"

"Probably," Sam said, graciously allowing the change of subject, though the look in his eyes said it wasn't forgotten. "If this isn't our room, whoever checked in is gonna have to come back sometime."

"Right," Dean agreed.

There was a pause where something shifted, or melted away, or became something new. Became more than it was before, more alive, more there, just . . . _more_.

Of course, neither Sam nor Dean noticed this. It was something subtle, delicate, yet unbreakable in a way that no one would ever be able to understand. Especially not emotionally repressed monster-hunters.

"Let's get a drink. You're buying."

"Sure, Dean. As soon you pay me back for last time."

"You still think that's gonna happen? Dude, talk about denial."

"Let's talk about our feelings instead."

"God, you're brutal."

"I do what I have to do to survive."

"Sam Winchester, ladies and gentleman. Exaggeration and drama all the way."

"You're one to talk."

"Aw, Sammy, I'm blushing."

"Wow, Dean. Pink is so your color."

"Really? 'Cause I think my fist would really go well with your face."

"We should leave," Sam said, changing the subject.

Dean snorted. "Coward."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

Then they got out.

* * *

In the end, they went to a nearby restaurant, where they both got coffee, then didn't order anything else.

"Any ideas?" Dean asked as he took a gulp of his drink.

"Well, possession is out, since we still have the anti-possession tattoos. Unless it's a ghost? But I think we'd remember if it were. A witch? Except we haven't run into any lately . . ."

"Stop thinking so hard, Sammy. You'll strain yourself."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I think that's you, Dean, not me."

Dean paused. Then he shrugged, and drank more coffee. "Yeah, probably."

A waitress came by, smiling pleasantly at them. Her nametag said 'Katie'. "Would you like to order anything yet?"

"Nah," Dean told her, giving her an easy smile. "We're good."

"Yes you are," she murmured, chuckling to herself as she left to another table.

He watched her leave, amused. "I like her."

"You would," Sam replied.

"You can't tell me you didn't like her, either."

Sam rolled his eyes, but smiled. "Whatever you say, Dean."

"Let's keep it that way."

The words "_Yeah, right_" hovered in the air between them. Dean ignored it, gong back to drinking his coffee.

They sat in comfortable silence until they became aware of someone sitting beside their table, arguing with his friend.

"I swear to you, it's a ghost, I _saw_ it. I barely made it out in time. Why won't you believe me?"

"Because there's no such thing, Vic. Ghosts aren't real."

Vic sighed in frustration. "I saw it, Nikki."

"You saw something that you perceived to be a ghost," the dark-haired woman opposite him said. "That doesn't mean it was one."

The third person at their table, a man with white-blond hair, rolled his black eyes. "Don't go all psychiatrist on him now, Nikki. You know how he hates that."

Nikki looked at him. "Lee. I don't care."

"You're a psychiatrist," Vic pointed out. "You're supposed to care."

"You're practically obligated to care," Lee said.

Nikki looked offended. "Don't gang up on me."

"Why not? You've never had any qualms about doing it to us," Vic replied.

"In fact, you enjoyed it," Lee added. "What kind of doctor are you?"

Vic shook his head in disappointment. "Not the good kind, that's for sure."

"She puts all other shrinks to shame."

"Okay, okay, stop that, it's creepy. Jeez," she muttered. "You try to help a friend and boom, just like that, they turn on you."

"What is this world coming to?" Vic said mildly.

"Nothing she wants," Lee murmured.

"You'd think you guys were brothers or something," Nikki complained. "Stop it. You're freaking me out."

"Good. Now you know how all your other patients felt," Vic told her.

"Except not, because you're way more disturbing than we could ever be," Lee said.

"Way, way, _way_ more."

Dean thought this was a good time to barge in. "You said something about a ghost?"

They turned to look at him.

"Yeah," Vic said slowly. "Why?"

"Can you tell us about it?" Sam asked, puppy-dog charm at full power.

Nikki melted. She whacked Vic on the arm. "Tell him already, you heartless creature."

Lee looked at her as if she'd just betrayed them both. Vic looked slightly bored, as if the sudden attitude reversal happened all the time.

Considering how Nikki didn't even blink when Lee turned and accused her of treason, it probably did.

"I was looking around the Crane family's ancestral home when it happened," Vic began. "I walked down into the basement, and this . . . this woman . . . attacked me. She looked as if she'd been in dirt or something. Her dress was all tattered and her hair was in a mess. I escaped before she could do anything more than scratch my arm." He paused. "I think she was Adelaide Crane, the wife of Nikolai Crane. You see, Adelaide couldn't have children, and Nikolai wasn't the greatest husband ever. One day, she just . . . disappeared. No one said anything, but I think they all knew it wasn't a coincidence that she and Nikolai had a fight the day before."

Dean and Sam exchanged glances. "And no one looked into it?"

Vic shrugged. "Nikolai was rich, connected, and influential. There wasn't any evidence that he'd done anything. It would have been nearly impossible to convict him."

Dean nodded. "You know where Adelaide's . . . uh . . . buried?"

Vic raised an eyebrow, but answered, "Well, there's a few rumors about that, but the only one I'm not doubtful about is the one where she's buried in the basement I was in."

"Figures it's not gonna be that easy," he muttered in a low tone that only Sam heard.

His brother glanced at him sympathetically, then turned to Vic. "Thanks for the help."

"You journalists or something?" Lee asked.

Sam smiled. "Or something."

* * *

An hour later, Dean and Sam staggered into the motel room they'd . . . woken up in? Came aware? Became conscious? Whatever.

They'd learned that they had, in fact, checked in, apparently not saying anything of interest to the bored-looking guy at the desk, which was slightly disappointing, but not unexpected.

They both collapsed side-by-side on the couch, trying to get their breath back.

"Never again, Sammy," Dean said as he gulped in air. "Never again."

Sam let his head rest on the back of the couch. "Not gonna argue with you there. Did you have to taunt her so much?"

Dean lifted his shoulder in a tired shrug. "Hey, I wasn't lying. It really was possible that her dad was the illegitimate offspring of a feral hedgehog."

"But did you have to tell her that?"

"She had to know, Sammy," Dean said solemnly, eyes grave. "No matter how it broke her poor little transparent heart."

There was a moment of silence.

Then they snorted, the ridiculousness of the statement getting to them both.

They sat there in comfortable quiet, and Dean didn't even notice when he'd fallen asleep, but suddenly, he was waking up.

The first thing he saw was Sammy's shirt, which his head was resting on. Now, this wouldn't have mattered, if only Sam hadn't still been wearing it.

Dean lifted his head off of Sam's shoulder to squint at his brother's face. Sam's expression was smoothed out in sleep, without any hint of the worry or sadness (_or desperation_) he sometimes saw on his face.

Sam blinked tired eyes open when the strangely comforting weight disappeared. He returned the look Dean was giving him, the one that said, _This is awkward_.

Except Sam's replied, _Not really._

_Well, it should be._

_What say you, knave?_

Okay, so that last one didn't happen, but it might as well have.

Dean lifted his shoulder in a clear gesture of _I have now ceased to care._

Sam rolled his eyes. _I never started._

Dean pushed himself off the couch and stretched. He couldn't keep the flicker of surprise off his face as the muscles barely protested. Crashing through a window and colliding with walls really took it out of you, but it seemed as if he was just fine. He turned to casually ask Sam, "You doin' okay?"

His brother smiled. "I'm fine, Dean."

He leveled a look at Sam. "Don't give me that. I know for a fact that at least a few pieces of glass cut you."

"I could say the same of you," Sam pointed out.

"None of it got me."

"Right."

Dean made a 'come on' gesture. "Show me your arm."

"Only if you show me yours," Sam countered.

Dean wrinkled his nose. "At least phrase it differently."

His brother sighed and pulled the sleeves of his shirt up to his shoulder. "There. Are you happy now?"

"For now." Dean frowned. "Dude, is your blood black?"

Sam looked down.

The dried blood on his arm was, indeed, black. And it was undoubtedly his. He stared at it for a moment before raising his gaze to Dean. "Show me your arm."

Dean did, and they both looked at his own black blood.

Finally, Dean spoke what they were both thinking.

"What the _hell_?"

Not-Sam furrowed his brow, somehow managing to look like a strangely puzzled yet sad puppy. "I don't know."

Not-Dean pointed to his arm. "We're Leviathan? I don't remember being an ooze monster with too many teeth."

Realization flashed through Not-Sam's hazel eyes. "Dean, you know when we were attacked this morning . . ."

Not-Dean looked disappointed, as if he'd been hoping for a logical explanation to be bleeding black blood. "You think that was us?"

"I think it's a possible."

"So, then . . . where's the real Sam and Dean?"

Not-Sam sighed. "I don't know, Dean . . ." he trailed, unsure how to address his not-brother now that he knew they were Leviathan.

"Let's just keep the names for now," Not-Dean suggested.

Not-Sam nodded. He frowned. "What do we do now?"

"We should probably find the real Winchesters."

"Yeah."

There was a moment of silence.

Then Dean said, "You're still my brother. You're getting out of this that easily."

The corners of Sam's lips quirked. "Damn. And I was so hopeful, too."

Dean laughed, putting an arm around Sam's shoulders and mussing (already messy) hair with his free hand.

He paused, realizing that the real Dean's issues with Public Displays of Affection was absent from him. If this was what Dean felt for his brother (_protectiveness, warm affection, a need to be needed and a love as if his world would end if Sam did_) then it was no wonder he went to Hell for him. Though why Dean didn't show it more was beyond him. Something to do with the stern John Winchester, perhaps?

(He still wasn't telling his Sam that, though. He understood Dean's reluctance in that instance. Blackmail material was not something he wanted to just give away all willy-nilly.)

He glanced up at Sam, immediately registering the reason for one of Dean's other issues. "Dude, why are you so tall? That's not right. Maybe God gave you all the height because he felt guilty for making me the pretty one. "

Sam's lips twitched. "I'm sure you're right, Dean."

"Don't agree," he complained. "You make it sound like it's not true."

"I wonder why that is."

"Yeah," Dean said depressingly. "Yeah, I'll just bet you do."

"Don't feel bad," Sam soothed. "At least you've still got your looks."

"Not helping, Sammy."

He subsided. "Well, I tried."

"Uh, no. No, you didn't."

* * *

**Yes! They're Leviathans! Didn't see that coming, did ya? Ha! **

**There's going to be a second chapter of this story, but not a third. Sorry.**

**So, Levi!Sam and Levi!Dean can't call Cas, 'cause he's an angel and you just know he'd figure it out. They can't call the real Sam and Dean, because, hey, they're Leviathans. There's no way those stubborn Winchester boys would listen to their monster copycats, no matter how weirdly affectionate they are. So who can they call?**

**Next up: ****The Winchesters-okay, they're not actually the Winchesters, but whatever-are Leviathans. Who else can they turn to but Bobby?**

_**Weird Randomness!**_

0000

The real Dean and Sam Winchester started sneezing sporadically.

The demon in the Devil Trap shrieked as it was sprayed mercilessly. They may have sealed away Michael and Lucifer, but they were still Angelic vessels.

In other words, their sneezes were literally holy.

0000


	3. Chapter 2: Identity Crisis

**AN: Here it is, the second and last chapter of Identity Crisis. Hope you like it.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Supernatural. My sister, on the other hand . . .**

**Warnings: Language. That's about it.**

**Summary: The Winchesters-okay, they're not actually the Winchesters, but whatever-are Leviathans. Who else can they turn to but Bobby?**

* * *

"Don't panic."

"I'm not panicking."

"Just stay calm."

"I am calm, Dean."

"There's nothing to worry about here."

"Actually, there kind of is."

"There is absolutely no reason to panic."

"I told you, I'm not panicking."

"Nothing to worry about-"

"Oh, for Heaven's sake," Sam said, patience thinned to the point of snapping. "We're Leviathans, Dean. _Get over it_."

Dean frowned at him. "Why are you so calm about this, anyway?"

"There's no use in falling all over myself; it's not like it would fix anything. So we're Leviathans. That doesn't mean we can't still be ourselves. That doesn't mean we still can't help people."

Dean sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right. So what do we do?"

Sam shrugged. "We could try talking to Bobby."

"Yeah, and that'd go great, up until he killed us dead."

"No one knows what can kill us yet."

"Trust me, he'd find a way."

"But what else can do we do?"

"I dunno."

"You think Cas would come if we called?"

"Probably not." Dean scowled. "And I'm still mad at him for tearing down the wall." He paused. "Speaking of . . . do you remember Hell at all?"

"Yes," Sam said soberly. "It's an accomplishment that Sam's still mostly sane."

"Mostly?"

"Lucifer hallucinations. He tries to ignore them, but the whole thing wears him down."

"What about you? Are _you_ okay?"

Sam smiled reassuringly. "I'm alright. Hell just doesn't affect me the way it would something else."

"Thank God for that."

Sam patted his shoulder.

Dean relaxed slightly under his touch, which made Sam say, "You know, I've noticed that we're a little more comfortable with touching than Sam and Dean are."

Dean wrinkled his nose. "Dude, that didn't come out right."

"How else was I supposed to say it?"

"Not like that."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"Still not gonna call Cas," Dean added. "He may've let those souls go in the end, but he shouldn't have tried to swallow them all in the first place."

"I know. He was Sam's friend, too. Sam trusted him, and we both know that they don't trust easily. Castiel broke that trust the moment he made a deal with Crowley." Sam looked down, expression regretful. "They won't forgive him easily for that."

"They'll trust him again someday," Dean said mildly. "Cas is the type to repent something until it kills him. Pretty sure he's repenting over this."

"If we know him," Sam said, "and we pretty much do, then he's regretting it more than anything else."

"Of course he is. Still not calling him. Besides, we may look like Sam and Dean, but we're not. And he'd be able to tell the moment he saw us."

Sam suppressed a sigh. "Let's go ahead and try Bobby, then."

"You think we should call first?"

"Probably."

"You call him, I'm driving."

"You're abandoning me?"

"Not abandoning you. I'd never abandon you. I'm just . . . giving you the chance to talk with Bobby. I know how much you want that."

"Thank you ever so much," Sam said dryly. "Would that I could do the same for you."

"Alas, it is not to be. So call him already."

"Yes, Master."

"That's _Sir_ _Master_ to you."

* * *

They stopped at a convenience store along the way. What they didn't count on was the guy who tried to rob it.

Dean had been staring down at a packaged pie. "I don't think I want this."

"Really?" Sam seemed surprised. "Why not?"

"I don't know. It just seems . . ." he wrinkled his nose, ". . . not good."

Sam held up a banana. "Fruit?"

"Might as well. We should get some oranges, too."

Sam chuckled. "We really are not Sam and Dean, are we?"

Dean smiled crookedly, a more genuine version than the one the elder Winchester gave people. "I wouldn't want us to be completely alike, anyway. How boring would that be?"

"You're right," Sam replied, smiling faintly.

"Of course I am. You act as if it's not a frequent occurrence."

"My apologies. In no way did I intend to offend your delicate sensibilities."

"Don't patronize me."

"I would never."

"You're doing it now."

"You're mistaken."

Suddenly, a man nearby whipped his hand out of his jacket and aimed a gun at the cashier. "_Alright_, _just give me the money!_"

Dean pointed at the robber. "He's mistaken. I'm not."

"Do we have to do this now?" Sam asked, a long-suffering look on his face.

Dean subsided. "This isn't over."

"It's never over with you."

"Are you deaf?" the robber shouted. "_Give me the money!_"

"Dude, inside voice, man," Dean said irritably.

The guy swung the gun so that it was aimed at him. "Hand over your wallets," he hissed.

"No," Dean said bluntly.

The man seemed startled by his refusal. "You can't do that!"

"I just did."

"I'll shoot you!"

"Go ahead."

The guy shot him in the stomach.

Dean looked down. Then he glanced back up. "Dude, not cool."

The robber looked stunned. "But . . . but I shot you!"

"Yeah. I know."

"Why are you still standing?"

"I've got abs of steel."

"Dean," Sam hissed. "You're scaring him."

"I'm scaring him?" Dean looked offended. "Well, thank you so very much for your concern, Mr. _Oh-You-Just-Got-Shot-I-Feel-For-You-Let's-Go-For-A-Run_."

"I didn't say that."

"You might as well have."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know you were so sensitive, Dean. I didn't take into account your subtle fragility."

"_Stop it!_" the robber yelled. "_Why aren't you dying yet?!_"

Dean gazed at him. "Because . . . I don't want to."

The man gaped at him. Then his eyes rolled up, and he fell over in a dead faint.

The brothers regarded him.

"Wimp," Dean said.

"You can't really blame him," Sam pointed out. "He was expecting you to collapse when he shot you, not start bickering with me."

"Who says 'bickering' anymore?"

"I think that would be me."

"You're so behind the times, Sam," Dean said condescendingly.

His brother sent him an exasperated look. "Let's just get the fruit, alright?"

They dropped their bananas, oranges, and apples onto the counter.

The cashier stared at them. Then she said, "Take it. It's on me. I'm quitting today. Also, you just got shot in the stomach and you're buying food. If that doesn't warrant free stuff, then I don't know what does."

Dean gave her a wide grin. "You've got a great future ahead of you, I can tell."

"I know," she replied. "My charm and witty repartee could get me anywhere."

He nodded appreciatively. "We could almost be related."

"With muscles like that, I'd settle for being a second cousin." She handed them their receipt. "Here you go. Have a nice day, and try not to get shot anymore." She waved as they walked away. "Don't call me, I'll call you. That means you won't ever see me again, unless we both have a stroke of amazing luck."

Dean waved back. "Hopefully, that stroke of good luck won't take too long."

A minute later, they were walking to their car.

"I still say you were patronizing me," Dean said, sliding into the drivers' seat.

Sam gave him a look. "Yes, I was. And I'm not afraid to do it again."

"What happened to you, Sam? You used to be so innocent."

"I was never innocent."

"We're Leviathan. We're not supposed to be innocent."

"Then why-you know what, forget it."

"Giving up already?" Dean shot at him as he started the car. "I didn't take you for a quitter."

Sam looked at him. "Dean, I tell you this with all brotherly love and affection. _Shut_. _Up_."

"That's not what I call love and affection," Dean tsked. "Try again."

Sam rolled his eyes. "You're a jerk, Dean."

"You're a bitch."

"I'm going to pepper-spray you."

"You have pepper-spray?"

"I just got it. Would you like to test it for me?"

"Ouch."

"I didn't think so."

They drove the rest of the way in silence.

Well, okay, no. But they did when Sam pepper-sprayed his brother. Dean's screams were heard for miles. Then they drove the rest of the way in silence.

It was wordlessly agreed upon that they never mention the subject ever again.

* * *

"What do you two idjits want this time?" Bobby asked as he opened the door, letting them walk in. He shut the door behind him and followed. He looked at Dean. "You got somethin' in your eye, boy?"

Dean tried to stop blinking rapidly long enough to glare at Sam. "Yes."

Bobby glanced between them. "Alright then. What'd you want t' talk to me about?"

"We've got a problem, Bobby," Dean said, squinting out of one eye as he sat down on a couch. Sam sat beside him, ignoring the vaguely cross-eyed look his brother gave him.

Bobby looked at him. "You doin' okay, Sam?"

"I'm fine, Bobby," he assured him. "No hallucinations or anything."

"So what's the problem?"

"You won't get mad, will you? I mean, of course you'll get mad, but try not to attack us, okay?" Sam said.

Bobby eyed them warily. "That depends on what the problem is."

"Well," Dean hedged, "it's kind of a big problem."

"How big?"

"Don't kill us."

"No promises."

"Don't maim us."

"Didn't you hear what I just said?"

"Don't throw us into the basement and torture us."

"That big?"

"It's that big."

"So what is it already?"

"We're Leviathans."

Bobby stared at them. "Are you insane?"

"Kinda. Just a bit." He paused. "Yeah. Yeah, we are. Sorry. But look." He pulled a knife from where it was hidden and gave himself a small cut. "Black blood. Please don't shoot us," he added.

Bobby stared at them some more. Then he pulled a gun from out of nowhere and shot them both.

It was the second time that day Dean was shot at. Boy, he was on a roll.

"Ow," he muttered. "Was it something I said?"

Sam nudged him with his elbow. Hard. "Stop it," he hissed.

"What? He shot you!"

"He shot you, too," Sam pointed out.

"Eh," Dean said dismissively.

"You don't care?"

" Of course I care."

"Really? Because it looks to me like you don't care."

"I don't care if it looks to you like I don't care."

"Well, I care that you don't seem to care that it looks to me like you don't care."

"I care."

"Do you? It really doesn't appear as if you care."

"If I cared every time you cared that I don't care, we'd never get anything done. So, really, I don't care."

"Fair enough," Sam conceded.

Bobby stared at them. Again.

Dean pointed at him. "I still don't like that you shot my brother."

Sam smiled slightly. "It's not like it'll kill us, Dean. Besides, he thinks we're monsters."

"We are," Dean countered.

"Yeah," Sam admitted. "But that doesn't mean we have to be monsters to ourselves."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Stop, you're getting all your feelings on me."

"And you aren't?"

"Me?" Dean snorted. "Yeah, right."

Sam held out his arms. "Give me a hug."

"Okay." He did, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around his brother.

"Dean," Sam mumbled after a moment, voice muffled by his brothers' shoulder, "let up. You're getting all your feelings on me."

Dean slapped him on the back and pulled away to then casually sling an arm around Sam's neck.

Sam gazed at him. "You really have no shame at all, don't you."

"That's me, Sammy," Dean said with a wink. "The real Dean Winchester may not like chick-flick moments, but then, I'm not him. I have absolutely no qualms in hugging you until you can't feel your arms anymore. Or until you can't breathe."

"I always knew you'd kill me someday. I just never thought it would be with affection."

Bobby, whom they'd forgotten about completely, let his gaze go from one man-er, creature-to the other. "What kinda Leviathans are you? You're s'posed to be predatory and menacing, not all mush and goo."

Dean turned to smile confidently at him. "You feelin' left out, Bobby? You want a hug, too?"

"Keep those octopus arms away from me," the old hunter ordered. "I'd have at least expected this from Levi-Sam over there, but you?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "He's like a huge, affectionate, needy teddy bear."

"Everyone needs a hug sometimes," Dean said.

"Not Dean Winchester," Bobby said, though his tone made it clear that the elder Winchester was the only one who believed that.

"Nah, he needs one, too, he just doesn't know it. Needs it more than most, actually. Same goes for Human-Sam."

Sam snorted. "You're right about that."

"They should really hug it out," Dean said.

"And stop lying to each other," Sam added.

"And listen more to one another."

"And be more attentive."

"And stop hiding things."

"And stop trying to bear all the weight themselves."

"And be more affectionate."

"_And_-"

"Alright, alright," Bobby said, exasperated. "Just try telling them that, why don't you."

"That's a pretty good idea, actually," Dean said pensively. "I think I will."

Sam nodded. "Me, too."

Bobby eyed them disbelievingly. "Well, I won't be there when ya do. Why're you here instead of tryin' to take over the world, anyway?"

"Being the Winchesters really changed us," Dean explained. "We see things differently now. We like humanity. Well, except when it starts wars."

"And when it kills senselessly."

"And when its greed gets the better of it."

"It's a lot like us monsters, really."

Dean nodded in agreement.

Bobby stared at them.

He wondered if maybe he hadn't been better off staying inside, where the door was locked and no virtuous Leviathans could lecture him on Winchester problems and the world's faults.

"All that alcohol and drugs can't be too good for you, either," Sam said disapprovingly.

Yep. Really shoulda stayed inside.

* * *

**There ya go, folks. Hope you had fun with that. Feel free to take up the idea and write your own version. Just tell me, 'cause I wanna read your version, too. **

**Next up: Dean wakes up only to find that he and Sam have somehow traveled to an odd new dimension.**

_**Weird Randomness!**_

0000

Dean and Sam Winchester stared at the two Leviathans standing in front of them. "You want us to _what?"_

"Hug it out," Levi-Dean replied.

"Go to couples' therapy," Levi-Sam suggested.

Dean ignored the last piece of advice. "Nuh-uh, no way am I participating in a friggin' chick-flick moment."

"But it's easy. See, you just go like this." Then normal-Dean watched, scandalized, as Levi-Dean threw his arms around Levi-Sam and crushed him into a tight embrace.

Sam, on the other hand, was too busy staring at Bobby to be appropriately scandalized. "What are you doing?"

"Filmin'," the older hunter replied, video camera aimed at the two cuddling Leviathan.

Sam sputtered. "Well, don't!"

"No can do, boy. This is gold. Pure, unadulterated gold."

"I'll say," Becky drooled.

Sam recoiled. "What the hell-"

Meanwhile, Dean was trying to yank Levi-Sam and Levi-Dean apart. It wasn't working.

_"Stop-"_ He grunted,_ "-hugging!"_

"Never stop, Sam!" Becky cried. "Never stop!"

Sam looked around wildly. _"Somebody get her out of here!_"

0000


	4. A Hard Day's Knight

**AN: Here we go, another chapter of Kryptonite. This one's called A Hard Day's Knight. Enjoy.**

**Summary: Dean wakes up only to find that he and Sam have somehow traveled to an odd new dimension.**

* * *

"Dean." Someone pushed on his shoulder. Dean ignored them. They began to shake him. "Get up, Dean."

"Go 'way, Sammy," he groaned. "I didn't do it."

There was a pause. "What didn't you do?"

"Uh. What do you think I did?"

"Nothing. Dean, you have to get up."

"Who says?" Dean grumped.

"I do. Now get up. Something's wrong."

Dean finally opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was his brother's face. "I'll say."

Sam shot him a look.

"Alright, already." Dean pushed himself up with a sigh. "What's up?"

"Look around, Dean."

Dean looked around.

They weren't in Kansas (aka, a hotel room) anymore.

The bedroom they were in was what one would call . . . quaint. The wallpaper was a white background with pink bubbled all over it. There were soft quilted rugs all over the fluffy beige carpet. The bed he sat on was covered by a quilt with different kinds of flowers on it. Roses. Sunflowers. Daisies. Other (just as girly) flora. The bed itself was made of wood. All in all, it looked like they were in some kind of cottage. Owned by a kindly elderly woman who liked to knit. And collect.

Dean gazed around in horror.

Doilies. Doilies everywhere.

"What the hell?"

Sam grimaced. "Yeah. Now look outside."

Dean wasn't sure he wanted to, but he stood up and walked with Sam to the front door, noting that the rest of the house was much like the bedroom.

At the door, he reached for the knob and pushed it open. He then stared out at tall, richly green grass, strong, thick trees with deep brown bark, lush bushes with vibrant leaves, and above it all, a pale blue sky mostly covered by light grey clouds. Mist made the air chill and damp.

Not a sign of other civilization.

"And again, _what the hell_?"

Not exactly eloquent, but the sentiment was genuine.

"Where the hell are we?" Dean looked around, but the scenery didn't change.

"No idea."

After a while, when nothing happened, except for Dean's stomach gurgling, they went back inside, moving to the kitchen.

"Is there any food in this damn granny cottage?" Dean grumbled. Then he opened the small refrigerator and found a freshly baked peach pie. "I take it back," he declared. "I love this place."

Sam briefly wondered if they should really be eating someone else's food, but the question was asked too late as Dean was already digging in. Sam combed around and found some cottage cheese, along with some strawberry jam, honey, and pepper.

"All that health is gonna kill you someday," Dean said with a wink. Sam just rolled his eyes and kept eating.

After breakfast, they searched for their weapons, but they were nowhere to be found.

"Great. Just great." Dean sighed. They rummaged around in the kitchen and found some suitably sharp knives. Taking the cutlery, they then strode out into the misty morning light. It was a truly beautiful day.

Sam ignored Dean's grimace as he stepped through the wet grass that reached just below their knees.

After a while, Dean stopped.

Sam turned around. "Dean?" He then followed his brother's stare to find a man in black armor sitting atop an equally black horse several paces away from them.

The horse snorted and pawed at the ground. The knight had it begin to walk toward them when someone shouted suddenly. The black knight stopped.

Dean stepped back as a white horse came to a stop beside him. The rider's armor was, like his horse, white. The two knights stared at each other for a long moment before the black one gave a growl and turned away.

The white knight watched until he was gone, then turned to face Sam and Dean. "Are you well?"

Dean eyed him warily. "Uh, yeah. We're fine. Who are you?"

"A moment, please." The knight reached up and pulled his helmet off, sighing in relief when he did so. Then he looked down at Sam and Dean, who were gaping at him. "I apologize. I am Sir Castiel." He tilted his head slightly. "Of the Knights of Haeven."

"Cas?" Dean said incredulously.

"Sir Castiel," he corrected. He then frowned at them. "And who might you be?"

Sam stared up at him and reflected that the day had just gotten so much weirder.

* * *

Sam and Dean followed Cas-excuse me, Sir Castiel. They were on foot and he was still on his horse. He was currently taking them to-_hemhem_-Haeven.

"So," Dean said casually, "who was that other knight?"

"That was a Daemon. That is what we call the knights of Hael," Sir Castiel added. "The king of Hael, Lucifer, gathered all those who are immoral. Corrupt. Hael is the nemesis of Haeven."

"And I suppose Haeven is all that's righteous and true?" Dean said sarcastically.

Castiel was silent for a moment, then he sighed. "I wish that I could say that it is. I believe that most of my people are good, but there are some . . . whom I doubt." His eyes went distant, and Dean wondered if he was thinking of Uriel. It figured that the Uriel of this world would also be a douche.

Castiel shook his head and glanced at the two Winchesters. "What about you two? Where do you hale from?"

"We're from Lawrence, Kansas," Sam said.

"I've never heard of it. Who is your king?"

"Uh. Led Zeppelin." Dean caught the look Sam shot him and shrugged.

"I apologize. I don't know who that is."

"It's fine," Sam said quickly. "It's a very small kingdom."

Sir Castiel nodded and they continued on.

Some time later, they finally approached the gate leading into Haeven. At said gate, a guard stopped them. He nodded to Sam and Dean. "Who are they?"

"They are knights from the land of Lawrence, Kansas," Sir Castiel responded. "They seek shelter in Haeven."

"You vouch for their honor?"

"I do."

"Very well, then." The guard led them to a small door beside the gate.

And that was the start of a long, strange adventure in which, afterwards, Sir Castiel never looked at pie the same way again.

* * *

**Yes, I know, it was short, but I did say that these stories were never finished. That means short chapters. However, it also means interesting plots. Hope you liked this one.**

**Next up: Normal AU. Sometimes you have bad days . . . and then sometimes you have horrifying, stumble-upon-a-dead-body, wanted-by-the-police kind of days. Unfortunately for Dean, he was having the latter.**

**Next up:**

_**Weird Randomness!**_

0000

"Let us worship at the altar of Saint Dean. Saint Dean said 'Dude, you've gotta try this, it's friggin' incredible.' And thus there was pie."

A hand shot up. "What about Saint Sam, Sister Anna?"

The pretty nun smiled gently. "Well, Saint Sam said 'That'll give you diabetes.' And lo, there was diabetes. That is why only the truly desperate worship at His altar. They eat Salad for every meal and only ever drink water or the Health Drinks made by the Monks of Ew, not the miracle of Jack Daniels of which Saint Dean had seen fit to create and is only given to those who reach the age He set for us."

"How was Jack Daniels created, Sister?"

"Saint Dean went into the Drunken Idiot state, said 'Blurgle,' collapsed at the feet of the famed knight Castiel, the first to taste the wondrous beverage and who followed soon after, and the next morning, in the Kill Me stage, which Saint Dean had dubbed the 'Hangover', Jack Daniels was there, waiting for us."

Another hand was raised. "Have you ever had Jack Daniels, Sister Anna?"

She nodded demurely. "I have."

"What was the Hangover like? Tell us!"

She gave them all a beaming smile. "I wanted to die."

0000


	5. Abnormal Normalcy

**Disclaimer: I own Holles and Film and my depressed, bitter tears . . .**

**Summary: ****Normal AU. Sometimes you have bad days . . . and then sometimes you have horrifying, stumble-upon-a-dead-body, wanted-by-the-police kind of days. Unfortunately for Dean, he was having the latter.**

* * *

Castiel sat in his favored cafe and sipped his coffee as he looked out the window. It was a beautiful day, with barely a cloud in the sky and the air chilled enough to signal the coming of winter. People walked around in coats and jackets, scarves wrapped around their necks, laughing, smiling, loving. _Beautiful_.

Castiel glanced up when the bell on the door signaled a new arrival. There were two men, both in dark uniforms. Police officers. They looked like they were on business. They went up to the counter to talk to the cashier. As they talked, the woman's eyes widened.

A child laughed and Castiel glanced away. Outside, a young boy was jumping onto a short line of stone blocks that were placed around an area of soil with a tree and a few plants growing out of it.

"Excuse me."

Castiel looked back. The police officers stood in front of him. "Yes?"

"I am Lieutenant Holles, this is Sergeant Film. We were told that you know this man." The taller of the two held up a photo. Castiel peered at it.

"Oh, yes. Dean Winchester."

"Have you seen him recently?"

He shook his head.

"What can you tell us about him?"

Castiel sipped his coffee thoughtfully. "He seemed to be a good man. He was kind. He gave me a coupon once," he reflected. "It was for a cheesecake."

"And?" the other, shorter, one demanded.

Castiel blinked at him. "What?"

"Was it any good?"

The taller man sighed. "_Roy_ . . ."

"Oh. Yes. I am more partial to the lemon pound cake with cream-cheese frosting, though," he confided.

The younger officer nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah. That sounds good."

The older man rolled his eyes. "Okay, thank you for your time. Let's go, Roy."

They left, but not before Sergeant Film bought the lemon pound cake.

Castiel stayed until he finished his coffee, then he, too, left.

* * *

_Last night:_

* * *

Dean crept up to his brother's bedroom window and leaned against the wall for a moment to catch his breath. Then he knocked. "_Sam!_" he yell-whispered. "_Sammy!_ _Open_ _up!_"

The light turned on and a sluggish Sam shuffled to the window and opened it. "Dean?" He rubbed his eyes sleepily. "What are you doing here?"

"Hey. I can come to you for anything, right? Anything?" Dean's eyes darted around at the sound of a siren.

Sam, feeling increasingly alert, blinked at him. "You know you can. Why? What is it?"

"Well, uh . . . I'm kind of wanted for murder. But it totally wasn't my fault," he added quickly.

"Murder? Did you just say murder?" Jessica came over to stand beside Sam.

"Uh. Yeah."

Sam pushed a hand through his hair. "Damnit, Dean, what did you do?"

"_Nothing_!" Dean protested. "I didn't do it!"

"What happened?" Jess began rubbing Sam's back.

"I don't know." Dean gave them a bewildered look. "I just stumbled over a dead body and boom, I'm wanted for murder."

Sam's brow furrowed. "They can't be after you for so little evidence."

"Well, uh, I might have also been covered in the guy's blood," Dean said weakly.

They stared at each other. Finally, Jess asked, "What are you going to do?"

Dean rubbed his head. "Well, I was kind of hoping I could stay here for now."

"No," Jess said quickly. "This is the first place they'll look."

Sam scrubbed a hand over his face. "She's right, Dean. Is there anywhere else you can go?"

"No. Not really."

"Okay. There's got to be a place . . ." Jess bit her lip before brightening. "I've got it! I've got this friend who rents an apartment. She's away at her parents' right now, so I just need to ask her if you can borrow it." She grabbed her phone, which was on the nightstand.

"Won't she be asleep?" Dean nervously.

"Probably not. She keeps odd hours." Jess texted, _Hy, cn brthr-n-lw sty at yr plce whle gone?_

There was silence, then a beep.

_Wy? He wntd by cops or smthng?_

_Knd of._

_Cool. Go ahad. Nt like im styng thr rt nw. Kep me pstd._

_Wll do._

Jess grinned at the screen before looking at her brother-in-law. "She says that you can stay there while she's gone. C'mon, I'll walk you there."

Sam watched in bemusement as his fiancée grabbed some clothes, which all happened to be black, and went into the bathroom to change. He shook his head. "I get the feeling that she's having way too much fun with this."

Dean chuckled. "Yep. She's a keeper."

Sam's face softened. "Don't I know it."

Dean was thinking about making disgusted noises when Jess came out. She rummaged in a drawer and pulled out a black hat, pulling it over her blond hair. She then looked at Sam and raised an eyebrow. "Well? You coming?"

Sam went to get changed.

* * *

_Next day:_

* * *

Dean felt like cursing when, from a distance away, he saw two police officers walk into his favorite cafe and talk to the woman at the register, Janet, then turned and made their way to that guy who was almost always there whenever Dean visited. He'd talked to him a few times. Cas-something. Scruffy-looking guy, always wore a trench coat. Had a surprisingly gravelly voice.

Dean gave the place one last look before sighing and trudging away.

* * *

_Next next night:_

* * *

Dean came back from a small convenience store where the only TV there had no cable. He hefted the plastic bag in his hand, which contained bread, chips, beer, and pie. He climbed the stairs and began to walk down the hall, to the apartment he was staying in. He stopped in front of it and opened the door. A few doors down, someone stepped out of their apartment and began to walk past him when they suddenly stopped. Dean glanced up and stared into the face of Cas-something. The guy who the cops had talked to.

They stared at each other for a moment. The guy didn't say anything, probably because he was in shock from being confronted by a murderer.

Just then, a police car cruised by with its windows down. It broke the spell.

Dean cursed and grabbed Cas-something, placing a hand over his mouth and dragging him into his apartment before shutting the door with his foot.

They stood there. Dean faced the conundrum of having a bag full of stuff on his arm and his hand over someone's mouth.

"I'm going to let you go now, okay? Don't scream," he warned.

Castiel nodded. He exhaled when Dean Winchester let go of his face, watching him cautiously. They stared at each other again. "If it makes you feel any better," Dean finally said, "I didn't do it."

"I am greatly relieved to hear that," Castiel said gravely. "I would have been most distressed to hear you say that you are indeed a murderer."

"Is that your way of saying that you don't believe me?" Dean wondered.

"No. It's someone else's."

Great. The guy was a comedian.

* * *

**Up Next: What do you do when you find yourself in an alternate world, watching your two friends fight off demons? But wait, that's not all! Not only are they fighting off demons, but they _are_ demons! This question can be answered by Castiel "Angel Dude" No-Last-Name.**

_**Weird**_** Randomness!**

0000

". . . and then the angel said 'Hey, assbutt' and blew up the Devil." Castiel looked expectantly at Dean.

The orange-clad convicted man clapped obligingly from the other side of the glass, his expression trying desperately to convey something resembling miserable appreciation. Deep inside himself, he was curled into a corner and sobbing

He hadn't meant it _literally._

0000


	6. Rhyme and Reason

**AN: I have a particular fondness for this one. Hope you like it, too. **

**Disclaimer: I totally own the Wind and Someone Else. So there.**

**Summary: ****What do you do when you find yourself in an alternate world, watching your two friends fight off demons? But wait, that's not all! Not only are they fighting off demons, but they _are_ demons! This question can be answered by Castiel No-Last-Name, poor guy.**

* * *

Castiel stood in the middle of a lush green field, the color oddly cold. The sky above was a crystal blue that was like looking at the normal, human blue sky through ice. Cracks spread all across it, making it look as if it could shatter if it was just hit hard enough.

A leaf detached from a nearly tree and began to turn white as it twirled in the breeze.

"Where am I?" Castiel asked.

"_Feel the frost, biting and bitter," _whispered the Wind. "_See the air chill your breath. It is winter."_

_C(e)ald Eorþe_. Cold Earth.

"Why am I here?"

"_Heed the call. Do what you will. Follow the storm. Watch the lull_."

Castiel frowned. "I do not understand."

"_Shh, angel. Worlds need you. Take action. In the end, meaning will be tangible_." There was the sound of a smile in the Wind's voice. "_A word of advice, so that you will not feel remorse. Trust your friends. Together, you make rules break and worlds bend. In a perfectly good way, of course_."

Castiel was just trying to puzzle that out when the Wind shifted, took hold of him . . . and threw him into another world.

To someone else, the Wind asked, "_Can we stop rhyming now? Despite what you think, it does not sound sage."_

Someone Else huffed and said, "_Oh, fine then. Go on. Take a bow. Leave the stage_."

With relief, the Wind promptly did just that.

* * *

Castiel stood in an alley. He looked around. The place was dirty and had a somewhat interesting, er . . . _aroma_.

Castiel frowned. Why was he sent here?

Then he heard them.

"C'mon, Sammy."

"Why now, Dean?"

"Because it isn't safe to stay. A demon spotted me earlier and he's probably getting some backup right now."

"Damn." Sam sounded upset.

Dean snorted. "You said it, Sam. It's hell being on the run from Hell."

Castiel stepped out of the alley and immediately saw them.

Demons. Inhabiting the Winchesters' bodies? Wait . . .

Castiel looked closer and saw that it wasn't demons in their bodies. The Winchesters were the demons.

Dean looked up and saw him. His expression changed. He didn't look alarmed or defiant. He just looked tired. "Great. Just what we need."

Castiel didn't like seeing Dean Winchester so weary. Then, just like always, Dean rallied, stepping in front of Sam with a sense of purpose.

"Dean," his brother protested.

"Sam."

Sam opened his mouth to say something, but he was cut off by the arrival of demons. The ones that Dean had mentioned, Castiel guessed.

"Well, well, well." The demon in the front of the group smirked. "Looky here, boys. It's our lucky day. We get both the Winchesters AND an angel."

Castiel said nothing. He simply looked at them.

There were five. He calculated that the odds of failing to beat them were somewhere around 39%. Not bad at all.

The Angel Blade in his sleeve slid into his hand.

The demon was still talking. _Foolish_.

"Don't worry, boys. Hell won't keep you forever. After we're done with you, we're going to give you to Heave-_gurk_!"

Castiel pulled the knife from the demon's chest. The demon fell, and Castiel was already on another demon when the rest started moving.

In the end, he threw the knife into the third demon and grabbed the heads of the other two. They cried out as he exorcised them permanently.

Standing in the middle of a pile of bodies, he thought that if he'd known how bad they were at fighting, he would have changed the odds to 18%. And they were the ones sent to capture the Winchesters? Castiel shook his head. _More foolish than he'd thought._

He turned to look at Sam and Dean Winchester. Looking at the two bodies next to them, he realized that there had been more than five demons. That had been careless of him.

What with the fighting, Sam and Dean hadn't had the chance to run while Castiel was distracted. Knowing that if they did so now they wouldn't get far, they watched him warily.

Castiel took a step forward before realizing that he still held his knife. He tucked it away, wondering what he should say to them now. Would they believe that he meant them no harm?

From the way they were eyeing him, not likely.

He thought about it, then decided that, as they appeared not to know who he was, introductions were in order.

"Hello," he offered. "I am Castiel." He didn't say that he was an Angel of the Lord, as he had the first time, because they probably wouldn't find it reassuring. And besides, they already knew what he was.

Dean stared at the odd angel who had just killed five demons by himself and was now introducing himself to them. The angel-Castiel-shifted slightly and gave a light cough. "I believe this is where you tell me your name." He frowned. "Unless I got that wrong."

"Uh, no. You got it right. That is what usually happens when you introduce yourself. Except that angels and demons generally don't tell each other their names. Because they're normally too busy trying to kill each other," Dean explained.

"_Dean_!" Sam hissed. "Do you really want to remind the _angel_ of that?"

"Uh . . . no?" Dean guessed.

Sam felt like facepalming.

"Your names," Castiel prodded.

Dean flashed a winning smile to make up for his faux pas. "I'm Dean. This is my brother, Sam. And you really don't want to kill us. We're too pretty. Well, I'm too pretty," he amended.

Sam looked up at the sky and wondered, _Why me?_

"What does beauty have to do with intent to harm?" Castiel wondered.

Dean didn't know how to reply.

"Nothing," Sam said, somewhat exasperated "Ignore him. Dean's just being . . . Dean."

Castiel tilted his head. "Does he have any other option?"

Dean gave a surprised burst of laughter. He slapped Sam on the back. "He's got a point, Sam."

Castiel felt his lips tilt up slightly. "I frequently do."

Dean grinned. "You know, you're pretty cool. For an angel."

Castiel nodded. "Likewise."

("_Yeah, I'm pretty cool for an angel, too. Way cool_." But of course, Dean would never say that. _Darn_.)

"So, does this mean you're not gonna try to kill us?" Dean asked casually.

"Yes."

"Yeah, I didn't think-wait, what? Really?" He blinked.

"I would not lie about this." Castiel heard the sound of wings and looked up. "We must leave. Now." He reached out.

"Wait, Cas-"

Too late. He touched them, and they were gone.

* * *

There was a moment of disorientation when they reappeared. Dean shook his head, blinking. When he was sufficiently steady, he asked, "Where the hell are we?"

The angel's eyes swept around the place, which was littered with broken and beat-up old cars. "Singer's Salvage," he answered.

"Why are we here?"

"There is a man. He may be able to help us."

"You trust him?" Sam asked.

Castiel smiled slightly. "I do."

The brothers exchanged glances.

_What do you think? _Sam's look asked.

Dean shrugged. _Well, I still don't know if we can trust this guy, but what choice do we have? Besides, he hasn't ratted us out to the angels. Yet._

_Wow, Dean, careful with the faith there. You just keep trusting blindly like that and you might get taken advantage of, _Sam didn't say dryly.

Dean snorted. _Bitch._

_Jerk._

It was amazing what one could express without words spoken aloud.

Castiel felt something like fondness as he gazed at them. And pride. He was proud of them. This was a different world and they were demons, but they were still far closer than he could ever hope to be with any of his brothers. Of course, as Robert Singer had once said, and as Dean had once repeated, "_Family don't end with blood_." Dean had proven that time and again.

Castiel tilted his head. "Shall we?"

He led them to a house in the middle of the yard. It was old and looked a bit ramshackle, but it was clearly well lived-in.

Cas - Castiel was a bit too much for Dean to keep up for long - glanced at them as if he had half-expected them to knock instead of him before hesitantly rapping the door with his knuckles, clearly not used to doing such.

When there was no answer, he knocked again. Inside, someone called, "Hold your horses, I'm comin'!" There was a thump and the sound of someone cursing. Dean was starting to get a little alarmed when a man pulled the door open. He older than he'd expected, with a scruffy brown beard covering his face, a worn green ballcap on his head, ratty jeans that had seen a better time, and a belly that had evidently seen a lot of alcohol.

"Bobby Singer," Castiel said.

The man's eyes moved from Cas to the boys, clearly suspicious. "Yeah?"

"We require your services."

"Bring the car over and I'll have a look at it."

Castiel frowned. "I apologize. You misunderstood. Those are not the services we need."

Bobby crossed his arms over his chest. "Yeah? What 'services' do you need, then?"

"We need refuge, a haven, if you will, from Heaven and Hell. I believe you can help us with that."

Bobby's eyebrows rose. "Heaven?"

"Oh, yes. I apologize. I have yet to introduce myself." He met his eyes calmly. "I am Castiel. I am an Angel of the Lord."

Dean had a feeling of how it was going to go down before Bobby shut the door.

* * *

With nowhere else to go, they sat on the porch. The wind blew, swirling red and orange leaves around and causing Sam and Dean to hunch in their jackets. Castiel didn't seem to notice the cold.

"I thought you knew him," Dean hissed.

Castiel looked a bit sheepish. "I do. However, I failed to remember that though I may know him, that does not necessarily mean that he knows me. I . . . may have miscalculated."

Dean snorted. "Gee, _you_ _think_?"

"Go easy on him, Dean. At least he tried." Sam turned to give the angel a reassuring him. "It's alright. We'll think of something else."

Castiel tried not to look upset. Whenever he tried to help he always seemed to mess things up. He wanted to do something for them that didn't end up . . . how was it that Dean had put it? . . . '_Blowing up in their faces_'?

Dean must have seen some of his distress, because he relented. "Hey, don't worry about it. He'd probably have shot at us once he learned that we're demons, anyway. Hell, maybe we should be thanking you. You probably saved us from some pretty painful gunshots," he joked.

Castiel still looked troubled. "But you are not bad demons."

Dean snorted. "Bet you never thought you'd hear yourself say that."

Cas looked at him steadily. "And it is all the more meaningful for it."

Inside the house, Bobby was listening thoughtfully. Finally, he knocked back the rest of the whiskey he'd been drinking and stood up. He went to the door and opened it. "If you're not gonna go away than you might as well come in."

They looked at him, shocked.

"Well? Getchur asses in here."

"_What_-_but_-" Sam stammered.

Bobby raised his eyebrows at him. "You arguin' with me, boy?"

Dean grinned and stood up. "No, sir."

They filed into the house and looked around. The place was a mess, with books everywhere, glasses and bottles, presumably used for alcohol, all over the place.

Sam turned to Bobby. "Can I asked why? Why did you decide let us in?"

Bobby thought about it. Then he shrugged. "No idea. Guess you idjits just looked too pathetic out there in the cold for me to rightly ignore ya. The fireplace is lit in the living room. You can tell me your life story after you warm up."

They lingered for a moment. "Thank you, Bobby," Sam said softly.

"Yeah, Bobby. Thanks." Dean flashed a smile.

"Thank you," Castiel said gravely.

"Yeah, yeah," Bobby grumbled, obviously not meaning it. "Go on. Git."

They got.

"Idjits." He shook his head and went to put on a pot of hot chocolate. It probably wasn't a good idea to give an angel alcohol.

* * *

Castiel took a sip of his hot chocolate while Bobby stared at them. He'd never had the hot beverage before. It didn't disappoint.

"So let me get this straight," Bobby finally said. "You idjits"-He gestured at the Winchester boys- "are on the run because you're too good for Hell and too bad for Heaven. Not to mention all the hunters out there who want your guts for garters."

Castiel frowned. "Why would they want to make a retaining band out of intestines?"

Dean laugh-coughed on his hot chocolate while Sam explained, "It's a figure of speech."

"Ah." Castiel nodded knowingly.

"Okay, I've heard all about ya'll." Bobby turned to Cas. "But what about you? Why are you here?"

Castiel frowned thoughtfully. He couldn't really think of a reason not to tell them. And he didn't want to keep anything from Dean, since he really didn't like that. Though Dean himself probably didn't tell them everything, either. And they were likely to meet this world's Castiel sometime. He would rather give the explanation now than later, when they would be confused and likely not a little bit angry.

So he did.

* * *

They were staring at him now.

* * *

**Next Up: In which Gadreel makes a different choice and is all the better for it.**

**_Weird Randomness!_**

0000

"So let me get this straight," Dean said slowly. "You're an alternate version of yourself that was sent here by . . . sentient wind. And our alternate versions are hunters who've stopped an apocalypse, crippled three of the Four Horsemen and put Lucifer back into his Cage along with Michael the Archangel."

Castiel nodded. "That is correct."

Dean clapped him on the shoulder and flashed him a grin. "Well, why didn't you just say so! Hell, for a minute there, I thought you were going to say that you were actually some kind of mislaid actor playing the role of an emotionally repressed angel with a tendency to make lame, redundant insults. But what're the odds, eh?"

"You're an assbutt."

". . ."

"I don't know why I said that."

0000


	7. Second Chances

**Disclaimer: If I owned Supernatural, the fans would rise up and take me down in an epic display of pure, unadulterated rage and denial. Then I would have to spend the rest of my life being spoon-fed by my sister, who would later become President of the United States by sheer concentrated willpower and not a little desperation, leaving hired companions to take care of me until I died old and mean, cursing her stupidly presidential name. **

**In other words, I don't own Supernatural.**

**Summary: ****In which Gadreel makes a different choice and is all the better for it.**

* * *

Gadreel felt the weight of the trust that Dean Winchester had placed in him.

It was not a burdensome heaviness. On the contrary, this was the first time he'd been given a duty, a responsibility, since . . . since the garden.

Dean Winchester was relying on him to keep his brother alive, to heal him. Keep safe the person dearest to him.

Gadreel would not let that trust be misplaced. Though he had lied to him about his identity ("_I am not that angel that is said to be good and honorable, no"_) he would not prove his promise to protect Sam Winchester false.

He would not fail like he had with the garden. He was wiser now. Better. He would guard Sam with all the grace he had left in him.

_(Father, forgive me, do not let me disappoint, I beg of you.)_

* * *

"I can't let you go on like this." Dean sighed and sat down on the bed across from Sam. "Listen, it's not you."

Gadreel tensed, alarm growing.

_He was going to tell him_. He was going to tell Sam that he had an angel in him, and then he would be expelled and they would-

In a panic he thought about taking over again, talking him out of it (_Just a little more time, I need just a little more time_) and staying, maybe-

_No_. Be calm, Gadreel. Let them talk. What will happen will happen. You are different now. Let Sam choose. Taking someone's choice from them is not right.

_Like I already have? What is one more?_

Too many. Far too many.

* * *

"Hold on-I have _an_ _angel_ _inside_ _me_?"

"Ezekiel. You were dying, Sam-"

"It was my choice, Dean! Wait, is he listening now?" Sam demanded.

Gadreel felt the urge to shrink away, but he did not. _I am sorry. Should I not?_

Sam blinked. "Did you-did you hear that?"

Dean sat up straighter. "What?"

"Ezekiel?" Sam asked cautiously.

_Yes. _It was strange. At the lie, he felt an odd mixture of shame and liberation.

"What-is he talking to you?" Dean asked.

"Yeah." Sam shook his head. "It's . . . weird."

_Sam, I feel I must warn you. You are not yet healed. If I leave now you will likely feel . . . much worse. _Gadreel hesitated then said softly, _However, that is your choice. If you wish to be free of me I cannot argue._

Sam thought about it. He honestly did. But then a sudden thought came to him. "If I do choose that, then where will you go?"

Gadreel recalled his vessel before Sam, but the man had just gotten his life back. He could not-would not- take it again. _I am . . . unsure, _he finally answered.

"I don't-" Sam pushed his hands through his hair. "I don't know. Let me think."

_You could . . . _Gadreel paused, then said, _I believe the saying is 'sleep on it'?_

"What's he saying, Sam?"

"He said that I could sleep on it." Sam answered Dean, rubbing his eyes wearily. "Yeah, I think that's a good idea."

Dean hesitated before asking, "You're not . . . angry anymore?"

Sam shot him a look. "Oh, no. Don't get the wrong idea. I'm _plenty_ mad. But I'm also tired. I'll deal with you-_and_ _Ezekiel_-tomorrow."

"Alright. I'm good with that." Dean tried not to sound relieved.

_I will wait for your decision. Good night, Sam, _Gadreel said softly.

Sam lay back with one arm over his eyes, then he sighed. "Good night, Zeke."

Gadreel again felt that odd mixture of dishonor and liberty. As if the lie, the misperception allowed him to be someone completely different. Like being thought of as Ezekiel made him . . . better.

He thought that perhaps he wished he was not Gadreel.

* * *

Gadreel stayed quiet when Sam got up in the morning. When Sam paused as he was taking off his clothes to get into the shower and asked, "Ezekiel?" he didn't answer. He turned his awareness inward so as to give the young man some privacy.

He wondered what would happen if he told them who he really was. And then he thought of Abner and felt rush of both affection and grief.

_Abner_. He had been . . . _such_ a good man. He hadn't deserved to be locked away like something disgraceful. Like Gadreel.

And then there had been Thaddeus. An uncaring, cruel angel who took pleasure in torturing.

Gadreel had always protected Abner. Sometimes Abner had talked of not wanting to be a burden, but he had been a burden like Dean's trust was a burden. It was a salubrious weight. He had been a good companion, a needed one, his best friend.

They had stayed together, protected each other in that cursed prison throughout the centuries, the millennia.

He would surely have gone mad if it hadn't been for Abner. All those years . . .

He admitted that he made a mistake. But _God_, did the punishment fit the crime?

And now he was free, but without Abner. Without Heaven. _Fallen_.

Disgraced in the eyes of all angels. But most of all, disgraced in the eyes of himself.

"Ezekiel?"

Gadreel jolted alert. _Sam? _How long had he been lost in himself?

"Yeah, um. I've decided." Sam took a deep breath and said, "You can stay until we find you a new vessel. Is that okay?"

A beat. Elation. _Yes, of course, that is . . . more than okay. Thank you, Sam._

"Yeah."

Gadreel could imagine Abner smiling warmly and telling him, "I am glad for you, Gadreel."

_This is my second chance, Abner. Would you wish me luck?_

"I would, but I do not think you need it. Just be yourself, Gadreel. That is enough."

* * *

After months of fruitless searching for a new vessel Gadreel was somewhat . . . lacking in excitement.

Sam let out a sigh. It seemed he was of the same spirits.

_Do not worry, Sam, _Gadreel said quietly. _We will find someone._

"Yeah, I know. I'm just a bit tired." Sam would have given a reassuring smile if there had been another body to smile at.

As they passed a bar, Sam just happened to glance through the window. Gadreel felt a burst of surprise as he recognized his last vessel.

Sam stopped when he felt the angel startle. "What is it?"

_The bartender. Before you, his was the body I used._

"Huh. That doesn't sound weird at all," Sam muttered.

Gadreel hesitated. _May I . . . may we check on him? I merely wish to see how he is doing._

Might as well. "Sure. Why not."

They walked into the bar and sat on one of the seats at the counter.

"Hey." Sam smiled at the bartender. "I'll just have a beer."

"Sure."

_May I?_

Sam could feel the angel's tentativeness. _'Go ahead. But don't get used to it.'_

A nearby customer who'd had several drinks and counting blinked when he saw the man a seat down stiffen and straighten after his eyes flashed a brilliant blue. The customer looked down at his gin and tonic and decided that he'd had way too much alcohol.

Ty Vincent slid the man across from him a beer. The man took it, looking at him with a surprisingly intense stare. "You are doing well?"

Ty blinked but answered readily enough. "Well enough. You?"

"Yes. Your life is . . . good?"

The people who came to the bar usually either wanted to be left alone or to talk. This man seemed different, however. His speech was very formal. He looked like he had a purpose, unlike many of the people there.

He was looking at Ty like his answer was important to him, so he decided to answer honestly. "Yeah. It's fine. But I do feel like . . . I should be doing some else. Something more." He smiled and shrugged. "I don't know what, though."

Gadreel felt a spark of hope. Perhaps . . .

'_Hey, maybe he'll take you back,' _Sam said.

_Perhaps. However, he has a job now. He has his life back. I could not take that away again._

'_Maybe you should ask him. Let him decide.'_

Point. _Yes. I shall._

He lingered until Ty Vincent got off work, which wasn't long.

Ty looked up as he was locking the place up and saw light.

_Ty Vincent, _a voice said gravely. _You remember me, do you not?_

"Yes," he breathed.

_I thought that I would not ask this again, but here I am. I believe that I used you badly before. I got you injured, though I healed the wound, then I left you in the hospital without an explanation and without memories of how you got there. I am deeply sorry for that. But I need you again. If you would have me, I would do much better this time around. Now, you must think on this. If you would consent, do not do so simply because I am an angel, but because you want this._

"I do. This gives me purpose, and I truly want a purpose." Ty smiled. "It's alright. I give you permission."

_Thank you, Ty Vincent, _Gadreel breathed.

Ty was engulfed in light.

* * *

**Yes, I know, it was too short, you scorn me, you despise me, you loathe my very existence . . . and you can't get enough. Too bad, suckers!**

**Next up: Sam's got an angel and a devil on his shoulders. Well, okay, Dean and Cas are a bit too big for that.**

**_Weird Randomness!_**

0000

"What . . ." Ty squinted into the blinding glow.

"What do you have to say for yourself, Ty Vincent?" a great voice boomed.

"Quiet down, Bob. _Jesus._ I'm standing right next you," another, slightly less majestic voice complained.

"Sorry, Rodney," the great voice said meekly.

A hand reached out and turned the light away from Ty's face, revealing himself to be in an interrogation room with what looked to be two cops.

"Now," Slightly-Less-Majestic Rodney said slowly, fixing Ty with a piercing stare. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Yeah," Great Bob added. "Tripping old grannies, stealing prized pigs, flashing people in the streets. You should be ashamed of yourself."

"Shut up, Bob."

Ty stared at them._ Gadreel . ._ _._ _what are they talking about?_

There was silence.

_Gadreel?_

_. . . the Scribe of God made me do it._

0000


	8. Angel to the Left, Devil to the Right

**Disclaimer:** **If I owned Supernatural, my coffee would be obscenely expensive and my sister would worship me. As in, no, no I don't.**

**Summary: ****Sam's got an angel and a devil on his shoulders. Well, okay, Dean and Cas are a bit too big for that.**

* * *

"Get a burger, Sam," Dean urged as they walked towards the diner counter. "C'mon, what harm can it do?"

"Besides give me a heart-attack halfway through eating it?" Sam muttered beneath his breath.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Wimp."

Sam ignored him and got a salad.

Dean wrinkled his nose. "Dude, how can you eat this stuff all the time?"

"We've been through this, Dean. It's good for you."

"It truly is, Dean," Castiel agreed. "Do not forget to drink your water, Sam."

"I won't."

"You're such a mother-hen, Cas," Dean complained.

Castiel furrowed his brow. "I am not-"

"Dude, it's just a saying. I don't mean it literally."

"I see," he said doubtfully.

Dean snorted. "Yeah, right. You really need to learn a little thing I like to call _sarcasm._"

"I will try."

"You do that." He turned back to Sam. "So, we going to meet up with Dad?"

"Yeah, after I eat," Sam answered, taking a bite of his salad. "Why do you call him that, anyway? I mean, it's not like he's actually your father."

Dean shrugged. "It entertains me."

"It would," he mumbled.

"Well, yeah. Also, You might want to move to another table, some people at the one next to you are startin' to stare."

Sam sighed and got up, taking his salad and water to a table outside.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Cas apologized.

He smiled briefly. "Don't worry about it, Cas."

Dean slid into a chair and gently slapped Sam's cheek. "Drink your water, Sammy. It's a vengeful spirit, right?"

"It's Sam, and yes. Don't worry about me, Dean, I'll be fine."

"Me? Worry? Yeah, _right._ Do you even know me?"

"No, Dean, I've only known you for . . . oh, that's right. The whole of my life."

"Smartass."

"That's me," he said wryly. "Sam Smartass Winchester."

Dean chuckled. "Just eat your soul-sucking greens already."

"Yes, master."

* * *

All the air rushed out of Sam's body as he hit the wall, and then the ground.

"Sam!" he heard his father shout. He groaned, rolling over onto his knees.

"You're okay. You're okay, Sam," Dean said urgently as he kneeled beside him, as if he could somehow will it to be true.

"You will be alright," Cas assured the young hunter.

"I'm fine," Sam coughed out, pushing himself up just as the spirit gave a shriek and appeared in front of him.

Dean turned sharply, eyes flickering demonic black, on-and-off. "You don't touch him."

She screeched.

_"You don't touch him!"_

The ghostly woman flickered several times, alarming her into jolting back. Then she shrieked, enraged, and tried to score Sam's face with her claw-like nails.

Dean cursed. "You don't touch _him_, you don't touch _Cas_, you don't touch _me_. _You don't touch!"_

She disintegrated, breaking off into fragments and pieces that burnt up, leaving nothing but the faint, lingering smell of smoke, ash and sulfur.

There was a pause.

Then, "Okay, the burning thing? Not me," Dean said blandly. "Looks like good old John finally managed to burn her bones." He let out a snort. "Took his freakin' time."

Good-old-John appeared at the top of the stairs and rushed to Sam, patting him down the moment he got there. "Are you hurt anywhere?" he demanded.

Sam pushed his father's hands away. "I'm fine, Dad. Is it done?"

"I burned her bones. You're sure you're alright?"

"Really, Dad, I'm not hurt too badly, just a few new bruises," Sam sighed. "Let's just get out of here."

John looked hard at him before deciding that he was telling the truth, and they left, Dean helping him down the stairs and to the car, no matter how Sam protested.

"Don't be so stubborn, Sam," Dean said as he slid in on Sam's right. "I know for a fact that your back's bruised all to hell."

"Let it go, Dean," Sam said beneath his breath. "I'm gonna be fine,"

Dean turned to Castiel, exasperated. "Cas, do somethin'."

The angel nodded and reached out to gently pressed a hand against Sam's back, healing the bruises that were already appearing.

Sam exhaled, then said, quietly enough that John wouldn't hear, "You didn't have to do that, Cas."

"I know, Sam," he said. "But . . . this is what friends do, isn't it?"

"Yeah, Cas," Dean assured. "It's what friends do."

Cas smiled quietly, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

Sam leaned back in his seat, letting his head rest against the back.

An angel to the left of him, a devil to the right.

There was no _'pretending normal'_ for this kind of thing.

* * *

**Well, that was interesting. I'm plannin' something like it again a few chapters later, too. Look forward to it. I know I am.**

**Next up: That encounter with a Djinn all those years ago, with the 'normal life'? Looks like it happened again. To Dean. Again.**

_**Weird Randomness!**_

0000

"Sam? Who're you talkin' to?" John enquired.

Five-year-old Sam Winchester gave his father a big, proud smile. "My friends."

John stared down at him. Then he turned to get his gun and the salt. Before he could leave, Cas grabbed him and pressed a hand to his head. John was out like a light. Cas caught him before he could fall. "He won't remember any of this. You should be more careful, Sam. Telling John of our existence too soon would be a grave mistake to make."

But Sam was looking up at the angel in awe. "Are you a Vulcan?" he breathed.

"That's right, Sam," Dean said instantly, clapping Castiel on the shoulder. "Cas here's a Vulcan. That's why he's so antisocial and wouldn't understand a joke if it bashed in the face."

Castiel stared in consternation. "Jokes can do that? Why do humans put one another in such danger?"

"Wow," Sam said wonderingly.

Dean smiled smugly. "It all makes sense now, doesn't it?"

"I don't understand," Cas said.

Dean snorted. "Story of your life."

"Someone wrote a book about me?"

0000


	9. Ordinary World

**Disclaimer: If I owned Supernatural, my sister would kill me for the rights. The fact that I'm not dead speaks for itself.**

**Summary: ****That encounter with a Djinn all those years ago, with the 'normal life'? Looks like it happened again. To Dean. Again.**

* * *

Dean awoke in a strange room. He instantly glanced around for an attacker, for anything, but nothing happened. Not a single shadow so much as twitched. He grabbed the phone sitting on the stand by the bed and quickly dialed Sam.

"What do you want, Dean?" a tired voice answered.

"Sam? You okay?"

"Uh . . . yeah. Why?"

"I just woke up in a house I've never even seen before. Where are you?"

"Dean, are you drunk?"

"What? No. Dude, it's barely morning."

"It's 9:20 AM, Dean."

"See? Barely morning. Where are you, anyway?"

"Where do you think I am? I'm with Jess."

"Oh, shit." Either a Djinn had gotten him or Sam was farther 'round the bend than he'd thought. He really hoped it was the first one.

"You're drunk, Dean. Look, just . . . don't call me unless it's an emergency, okay?" And he hung up.

Djinn, then. Obviously, they weren't very close in this world. _Again_.

Dean got up and looked around. A piece of paper caught his eye, and he picked it up.

Apparently, Sam and Jess were having a get-together. Dean sighed. Sammy never changed. Even though he and _Other_-_Dean_ were clearly at odds, he'd still sent an invitation.

Dean's lips thinned as his expression became determined.

He wasn't leaving without making up with Sam, no way. There was only one thing to do.

Take up the invitation and visit his brother.

Suddenly, the phone rang, and he cautiously picked it up. "Yeah?"

"Mr. Winchester? You're late for work," a familiar, gravelly voice said.

Dean nearly spit. "Cas?"

"Mr. Winchester?" He sounded confused. Probably because _Other_-_Dean_ didn't call him Cas.

"Yeah, uh . . . I'm gonna have to take some time off."

"Time off?" Cas said, surprised. "For what? Sir," he tacked on after a brief moment.

"For visiting my brother."

"Sam? Did something happen? Is he alright?"

"Yeah. _Yeah_, of course. He's fine. He just sent me this invitation for the get-together, and . . . hey, Cas, why don't you come with me?"

"Pardon?"

"Really, I won't mind. I'm sure Sam will be glad to see you, too."

"Well, I-I suppose . . ."

"Great," Dean said, relieved. "So I'll see you soon? 'Cause the get-together is today."

"You want me to go with you? In your car?"

"Yeah. Unless you don't want to," he added. "That's fine, I know I'm not the greatest guy around, if you'll pardon the understatement."

"No, I'll be right over. Thank you . . . ?" Cas sounded uncertain whether he meant it.

"Don't worry about it. See you then."

"See you . . ." they hung up.

Dean sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, just looking at the phone.

Other-Dean was such a dick.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, the doorbell rang. Dean walked over and opened it to see Cas standing there. He smiled. "Hey, you ready to go?"

Cas nodded. "You look . . . different."

Dean sent him a puzzled look. "How so?"

"You're hair's shorter," he ventured. "And you seem . . . fitter."

Oh, great. Other Dean was too lazy to even go for a walk now and then.

"I spent some time at the gym," Dean lied. "Let's get goin', yeah?"

Cas nodded again, and after an uncertain moment, Dean went to get his bag, then they were off.

He mentally cursed _Other-Dean_ to the deepest, darkest depths of Hell.

_His. Baby. Was. Not. There._

And now the silence was getting awkward.

Very awkward.

He turned on the radio.

"_If you told me you were gay-_"

Oh, my God.

* * *

**Next up: Dean and Sam are just vessels. . . . Aren't they?**

_**Weird**** Randomness!**_

0000

Sam opened the door, and nearly recoiled in shock. "_Dean?_"

Dean smiled wryly. "S'me, little brother."

Sam's mouth opened and closed several times. Finally, he managed to get out, "But . . . what are _you_ doing here?"

Dean froze. He'd been so busy with thoughts of Sam, he hadn't even begun to think of an excuse as to why he was suddenly appearing on the doorstep of what was most likely to be his estranged younger brother.

His mind raced for a reasonable explanation, _any_ reasonable explanation. His hand shot out to pull Cas to his side. "I'm here to announce my engagement," he proclaimed.

Sam's eyes widened astronomically. "To _Cas_?"

"Er . . ."

Sam and Castiel stared at him.

Dean gave up. "Yes."

"What?!" Sam sputtered.

_"What?"_ Cas echoed.

0000

Somewhere in another alternate dimension where everyone was flamingly gay, Dean sobbed and raged at the unfairness of it all.

0000

Back in his own universe, Dean Winchester suddenly felt a million times better about his own miserable situation.

0000


	10. Who We Are

**Disclaimer: I can't believe I'm still doing this. I mean, don't people write fanfics because they _don't_ own things?**

**Warnings: Dean's appalling language, obviously.**

**Summary: Dean and Sam are just vessels. . . . Aren't they?**

* * *

_The tree was huge._

Its branches numbered in the thousands and its bark seemed almost to glow. It drew them, and they could swear that it hummed almost imperceptibly, a soothing register bidding them to _come closer, come touch. And Remember._

They reached out at nearly the same time. And they_ knew_.

Samael looked at Michael, who looked back at him.

Then Michael said, "What the fuck."

"Dad always said we were special," Samael murmured.

Michael sent him a look. "Yeah? Which one? 'Cause I'm certain you're not talking about John 'Disapproval' Winchester."

"You're the one who's always saying that he did his best," Samael pointed out.

"His best could have been better," Michael said bluntly. "He told me over and over again, 'Protect Sammy, Dean'. Well, he could have tried harder to do that himself."

"So what you're upset about is that he didn't spend enough time trying to give me a better childhood."

"Damn straight."

"You're a marshmallow, Dean. You're like one of those candies where it's all hard on the outside and then soft and gooey on the inside."

Michael frowned. "I'm not a marshmallow. You're the marshmallow. I'm the dark chocolate."

"You're totally the marshmallow, Dean."

"You're the one who forces me to pull over every time we see an injured animal on the road," Michael argued.

"You pull over anyway."

"Because I know that you're going to make me."

"When I was away at Stanford, how many times did you pull over for an animal?"

Michael fell silent.

"That's what I thought."

The Archangel muttered a few expletives. Then he turned to his brother and said, "Pie?"

"Pie," Samael agreed.

They went to get pie.

* * *

"_Michael and Lucifer walk into a diner . . ._" a man began.

They froze in the doorway.

"Whoa," one of the man's friends said. "Eerie. You wouldn't happen to be Michael and Lucifer, would you?" he jokingly asked Michael and Lucifer.

Dean flashed him a smile. "You caught us. I'm Michael, and this is my brother, Lucifer."

"I promise I won't cause the Apocalypse," Sam offered. Then he added, "Well, not for a few billion years, at least."

The guys laughed, completely oblivious to the fact that the Archangel wasn't joking. Sam smiled blandly, then he and Dean found their own table and sat down. They ordered, and waited in comfortable silence for their food.

"What should we tell Dad?" Dean asked two minutes later, taking a bite of his pie.

Sam sipped his water. "What can we tell him? _'Oh, hi, Dad. Long time no see, a lot's happened since you've been gone. My girlfriend kind of died in a ball of fire on the ceiling . . . Just like Mom! Not to mention, I've been getting all kinds of visions about people I haven't even met before . . . and I'm actually Lucifer Morningstar. Surprise! Also, Dean's the Archangel Michael. But no big, right? We can totally get through this. Together, Dad. Together.'_"

Dean snorted, nearly losing the chewed-up pie in his mouth. "Right. Group therapy, here we come."

"At least he'll visit us in our cells at the local asylum."

"Uh, no. No, he won't. Too busy chasing Azazel and all." Dean wrinkled his nose. "Slimy bastard. I never liked him."

"Those poor nuns," Sam said sadly. "He sacrificed them, and for what? To try and phone me on a call that I wouldn't even get?"

"It's not your fault, Sammy," Dean assured him. "Lilith disguised herself as you. you couldn't have known."

"But that's just the thing," Sam admitted. "I could have, if I'd tried. If I'd just . . . tried."

"Don't," Dean said sharply. "If you blame everything people wrongly do in your name, you'll drown. Guilt is a flood that doesn't recede, not forever. Don't do that, Sam," he said, his voice gentling. "Don't do that to yourself."

"He killed _Mom_."

"You were in the Cage. Voluntarily, might I add."

"But . . . if I'd-"

"You went through hell, literally and figuratively."

"You went through it with me."

Dean frowned. "You're my brother. Of course I did."

"You shouldn't have had to."

"_Jesus_, Luce," Dean exclaimed. "Give yourself some credit! You volunteered to rule Hell because you were the only one who could do it, now stop blaming yourself for something you couldn't stop and _eat. your. damn._ _pie_."

There was a moment of silence.

Then, "Is this where we hug it out?"

"Shut up."

"'_Luce_'? Really?"

"I got used to calling you that in Hell, okay? We were there for centuries. You can't blame me for giving you a nickname."

"Do I get to call you Mike?"

"Absolutely not."

Sam smiled, then let out a deep sigh. "Dean . . ."

"What did I say, Sam? Stop blaming yourself."

"What if I can't help it?"

"Then I'll take you to group therapy myself."

"You're a real humanitarian, Dean."

"I know," the Archangel sighed dramatically. "Someone should just get it over with and name a city or something after me."

"Deantown?"

"If you like."

"Deannopolis?"

"it could work."

"Deangland?"

"Now you're just making fun of me."

* * *

**Next Up: ****He was trapped in a mausoleum. With Lucifer. Who was bored. ****_And singing._**

**_Weird Randomness!_**

0000

"I, Dean Winchester, the King of Deangland, have just made a new law," Dean announced. "From now on, pie and beer is to be the light of your life. So it is written, so it shall be."

Sam, the brother of the King of Deangland-_otherwise known as Heaven_-and the Mayor of Sam City-_otherwise known as Hell_-facepalmed.

Crickets chirped into the resounding silence.

An Angel started to cry.

Dean pointed at the blubbering seraphim. "Somebody get that guy some alcohol."

0000

Somewhere deep within the darkside of Deangland, a rebellion was brewing.

"On this night," the leader, Castiel, said gravely, "we shall overthrow the tyrant Dean Winchester and save our people."

The Angels shouted their support, Angel Blades clasped in their raised hands.

0000

Deep within the lightside of Sam City, a similar state of affairs was playing out.

"Let's take back our land!" the head revolutionary, Crowley, was declaring to the onlookers. "Let's make Hell the way it used to be! With hellfire lakes and terrible screams, none of this cheerful kitten posters or blueberry muffin shite!"

A demon hesitantly raised a hand.

"What?"

"Can we keep the blueber-"

_"No."_

The demon lowered its hand sulkily. "You suck."

Crowley turned around and started banging his head against a wall.

0000


	11. The Devil and Me

**AN: So I know I've kind of stopped doing Author's Notes, but I felt compelled to thank CallMeAnonymous9 for the splendid reviews they gave me. Yes, I know, I could have just replied to one of those same reviews, but this is quick and easy and this way, CallMeAnonymous9 won't feel obliged to give a response. Unless they do, in fact, feel obliged to give a response. I feel as if I'm digging my own grave. I'm going to stop talking now.**

**The song, by the way, is owned by Shania Twain.**

**Summary: He was trapped in a mausoleum. With Lucifer. Who was bored. _And singing._**

* * *

He was trapped in a mausoleum.

With Lucifer.

Who was bored.

_And singing._

Dean had better find him soon.

"_So take! These broken wings! And learn to fly again, learn to live so free . . ."_

Sam let his head fall back to thump against the wall.

"C'mon, Sam," Lucifer said amiably. "Sing with me."

"When Hell becomes a five-star hotel and demons give out warm towels and little chocolates," he answered.

"I could arrange that."

"_No_, Lucifer."

Lucifer rolled his eyes. "You really take the '_fun_' out of '_funeral_.'"

"You're hilarious."

"I know. It's my defense mechanism left over from all those years living with angelic sticks in holy mud."

Sam rolled his eyes. "You poor thing."

The Devil looked mock-touched. "Aw, Sam, I never knew you cared."

"Maybe because I don't," he said.

Lucifer threw an arm around his shoulder, ignoring it when he flinched away. "Don't be that way, Sammy. Just think what it would be like if I weren't here."

"Don't tempt me," he muttered.

"_Lead me not into temptation,_" Lucifer quoted. His voice went back to normal. "I didn't have to, anyway. They found it easily enough themselves."

Sam ignored him.

Thirty minutes later, he was unbelievably bored. Satan was leaning against him, an indifferent expression on his face, looking as uninterested in the dirt that had congregated on the walls as Sam currently was.

"Monopoly."

"How?"

"Go Fish."

"I repeat, how?"

"Tic-tac-toe."

Sam shrugged. "What the hell," he said. Lucifer went to retrieve two long, sufficiently sturdy sticks from the ground.

Those were a long, long three hours. Although Dean's expression when he saw all the marks in the dirt and heard Sam's 'reasonable explanation' almost made it worth the wait.

* * *

**Next Up: ****What happens when Sam and Dean suddenly find their roles reversed, with Sam as a demon and Dean as an angel helping Cas the hunter?**

_**Weird Randomness!**_

0000

Sam gaze blandly at the Devil. "I win."

Lucifer scowled and scrubbed off the markings in the dirt with his hand. "It was a fluke. Beginner's luck."

"Yes, the way it's been a fluke for the last five rounds," Sam retorted. "Admit it, you're just a sore loser."

Lucifer narrowed his eyes at him. "I can start singing again anytime I want, you know."

Sam snorted. "Try it. It can't be any worse than what I've heard from Dean when he's being spiteful."

"_'Cause I'm keeping you forever and for always,_" Lucifer started warbling. "_We will be together all of our days. Wanna wake up every mornin' to your sweet face-_"

Sam shrieked and threw his stick at him. _"Alright! Alright!_ You _win,_ for the love of all that is good and pure!"

0000

Lucifer smirked smugly down at the three straight 'X's drawn into the earth.

Sam glared at him and sulked.

The Devil was a jerk.

0000


	12. From Where You Are

**AN: The names are pronounced **_**Dean-wail **_**and **_**Sam-mariel**_**.**

**Warnings: Dean's mouth, a thought, and Exceptional Amounts of Sappiness. Enter at your own risk.**

**Summary: What happens when Sam and Dean suddenly find their roles reversed, with Sam as a demon and Dean as an angel helping Cas the hunter?**

* * *

The angel Deanuael opened his eyes, like a deep green forest at midnight, and said, "What the fuck."

Cas stared down at the angel, startled. It was the first time he'd heard him say such a severe word.

Dean, meanwhile, was a little disoriented. Falling through dimensions tended to do that to you. He'd actually been able to _feel_ the worlds as he'd passed through them.

"Dean," Cas said carefully, "are you all right?"

Dean blinked up at him from where he lay in the dirt. "Uh. Let me get back to you on that." He groaned as he sat up. His entire body ached, but he managed to stand up without falling over.

He looked around. Oh, hey. He was right outside of Bobby's. Cool. "Where's Sam?"

"Sam?" Cas asked. To say he was surprised would be an understatement.

"Yeah. You know. Brown hair. Puppy dog eyes. About yea high." Dean held up his hand flat in the air, way above his head.

Cas eyed the angel. He was acting oddly. Why would he be asking after Sammariel? And what was that about puppy dog eyes? "I'd assume he'd still be in Bobby's living room."

Dean blinked. "Why is he in Bobby's living room?"

Cas was looking at him strangely. "Because that is where we put the Devil's Trap."

"Why would he need to be where a Devil's Trap is?"

"Because he's a demon. Dean, are you really feeling alright?"

Dean's eyes widened. "Sammy's a demon?"

"Dean, you know this. What is wrong with you?" Cas's eyes narrowed as he stepped closer.

Dean nervously stepped backwards. "Personal space, Cas."

"Deanuael, tell me what has happened," the Hunter demanded.

"What did you call me?"

Cas stopped. "Deanuael?"

"Yeah. Why are you calling me that?"

"Because you are an angel and that is your name."

All the warning bells that had been going off in Dean's head exploded, leaving him staring stupidly. "Oh, hell," he said, in a somewhat understated way.

Cas uncapped a flask and threw holy water at his face.

Dean stood there a moment, his eyes closed. Then he slowly opened them and wiped his dripping face with his arm. "You want to stab me with a silver knife now?"

"Perhaps not stab," Cas admitted. "Though cutting you a bit wouldn't be amiss."

Dean held out his arm. "Go ahead. Carve away."

"Since when have you been so melodramatic?" Cas asked, carefully slicing his arm. There was no sizzle as his arm burned and his blood, of course, was completely normal. Well, about as normal as angel blood goes.

"Hey, Sammy is way more melodramatic than me. I mean, it's like he goes out of his way to make chick-flick moments. I keep waiting for him to turn into a woman. I swear, it'll happen one day."

Cas stared at him. Then he grabbed his arm and pulled him into Bobby's house.

Something was most definitely wrong here.

* * *

The fallen angel Sammariel groaned. The whole world hurt. Or maybe that was just him.

"It's about time you woke up."

Sam opened his eyes, lifting his head up from the floor to blink at the person standing in front of his line of sight. "Bobby?" His voice was low and rough. It suited how the rest of him felt.

The older man eyed him oddly. "What happened just now?"

Sam squinted at him. "Happened?"

"You collapsed." Bobby grunted. "You were out for about ten minutes. Now, what happened?"

"I . . . I don't know."

Bobby watched as the demon's brow furrowed, his expression one of confusion. The human, almost innocent bewilderment caused a strange pang. If he hadn't known better, he would have said that the emotions were actually genuine. And that the man was human. But he wasn't. So it was a likely notion that they weren't.

For the first time, Sam noticed something. "Bobby, why am I in a Devil Trap?"

Bobby's eyebrows rose. "Why do you think? Not like we'd let you run around free."

"What?" Sam reached out and felt his hand press against something invisible. He felt something inside him still. He lifted his eyes to look at the man who was more a father to him than John had been. "Bobby?"

Something inside hurt Bobby at the sight of the pain and confusion in the young man's face. _Demon, _he reminded himself. But Christ, he looked so human right then.

He was saved by the sound of the door opening and Cas calling out, "Bobby?"

"In here," he hollered.

Deanuael the Angel and Cas the Hunter walked in.

Dean stopped, his eyes widening when he saw Sam. Cas had told him, but it really hadn't prepared him for seeing his brother in a Devil's Trap. Though he would never admit it, he hurried over. "Sammy, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Dean. But what's going on? I . . . I think I'm a demon, Dean."

"And I'm an angel," Dean said dryly.

Sam's eyebrows rose.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Me? An angel? God must have either been drunk or in a really bad mood," he scoffed. It was somewhat absent, though, as he placed his hand in front of Sam's, his green eyes intent as he looked at his brother.

"Not at all, Dean," Sam said honestly. "You don't need a halo to be a guardian angel. After all, you've always been mine, even before this."

Dean's face softened. He probably didn't even notice the gentle smile that graced his lips. In that moment, he looked truly angelic.

Cas and Bobby, forgotten by the two brothers, watched the scene with a mix of confusion, shock, and something akin to awe. For they'd always known that Dean was an angel and Sam was a fallen angel, but now they were seeing the divine beings in a moment of grace that caused them to fully realize their . . . _goodness._

It felt intimate, like they were seeing something that they shouldn't. But they didn't avert their eyes. To do so would be a great loss.

It had to end, of course. Dust on the wind . . .

Cas sneezed. When Dean jerked back, the Hunter couldn't help but think, _Damn . . ._

Dean briefly pressed his hand against Sam's before letting it drop. "You and chick-flicks, I swear, man . . ." he muttered.

Sam laughed. "Shut up, Dean."

Dean gave a crooked smile.

The intimate, almost ethereal feeling may have vanished, but nonetheless . . . the bromance continued.

And it was all right.

* * *

**Next up: Gadreel was stricken by the state of Sam Winchester's soul. **

_**Weird Randomness!**_

0000

Adam Milligan stared in horror at . . . _his mother?_

Keith Milligan gave his-her-_his_ daughter a puzzled smile. "Is something wrong, Adel?"

Adam screamed.

0000


	13. Angelic Therapy Required

**AN: Okay, first off, I just want to say that the review CallMeAnonymous9 gave me was absolutely moving. No joke. I was seriously touched. It was so nice of you, so I want to say _thank you_ and if I could, I would take that review and embrace it like a beloved teddy bear until it died from my hug of love.**

**Warnings: Language, mostly. And if the feels attack, duck and run. Because they will inevitably be filled with _feelings._**

**Summary: Gadreel was stricken by the state of Sam's Winchester's soul.**

* * *

Gadreel was stricken by the state of Sam Winchester's soul.

It was sliced and flayed, burned in a way that no soul should ever be. There was no healing that. Not the way he was right then. It was unconscionable, to allow any persons' essence, their very being, to become so tragically tortured, much less to cause it.

Lucifer and Michael. His brothers were supposed to be better. _Merciful_. They were supposed to show compassion for humanity, not malice, nor disdain, nor indifference.

What had become of the angels? What had become of their purpose? Their Father had given them all a task, and many had failed to recognize it, or even to understand it. They were merely puppets on gilded strings, corrupted with greed and the temptation of greater power. One of the worst parts of it, perhaps, was that they neglected to realize just how very _human_ they had become.

How the Mighty had Fallen.

Because Sam's wounded soul, it was close to the condition of the elder of the two, marred by hurt and betrayal, lies and desperation.

But both scarred over with love.

Gadreel felt it. The bond between the Winchester brothers, a great tide that had washed over demons and angels alike, and shown them to be unworthy of its sheer strength. The power that would have closed the Gates of Hell, that had changed Destiny and pulled Lucifer back down into his Cage. It was overwhelming.

And he . . . wanted it.

Longed for it with a strength that surprised even him.

And yet . . . he did not deserve it.

"_I cannot allow you to do this_," he had told Lucifer at the Gates of Eden.

"_Then stop me_," Lucifer had said. And Gadreel tried. He tried so, so _hard_.

But Lucifer was strong, more so than most of their brethren. More than that, he was Gadreel's brother. Who kills their own brother simply because he is making a mistake?

"_I am sworn to protect this sacred place, and if that means that I will die, then so be it_," Gadreel had said, Lucifer's sword at his neck, his Grace bleeding slowly.

His brother had looked him in the eye, and smiled, ever so gently. "_I think not._"

And then he was gone. Eden was desecrated, and Gadreel's vow was broken.

More than broken, it was destroyed, along with any reason why Gadreel had ever been trusted with something so precious in the first place.

_Never_ _again_.

Oh, Gadreel had lain useless in that cell, his worth forever tainted. The only one who had found any value in him was Abner. His friend, his beloved brother. Abner had deserved so much more than what had been meted out to him. He'd learned his lesson, and still no one would listen to his goodness.

Only Gadreel, and he could do nothing about it. They had tried to protect each other, had given as much peace to one another as they could in their pain.

He had loved Abner, as his friend had him. They were family, and family was everything. To them and to the Winchesters.

He understood. Of course he did. Dean Winchester would do anything for his brother . . . except, perhaps, let him die. Unless Sam Winchester asked for death and meant it, meant it with all that he held inside of him . . . unless he was so finished with life that there was nothing, _no_ _one_ left to fight for. Then Dean would let him go. No, not let him go, but possibly . . . allow him to slip away. And he, soon to follow.

It _hurt_, that love. It hurt when they hurt. It hurt to imagine them gone. It hurt so _painfully_.

There was nothing more frightening than being alone. Nothing more paralyzing, or excruciating. Nothing more hopeless. And the Winchesters really were quite familiar with hopelessness.

As were Gadreel and Abner.

They had tried not to think about it, but they'd both known, despairingly, that they would never escape. They would never be free. No one would get them out, because no one cared to. Hatred was one emotion angels had mastered. Perhaps because most of them had no real concept of compassion, nor tenderness.

No, that was harsh. Quite a few of them really were quite noble. Angels of love and mercy. He hadn't known many angels personally, and naturally there were far more by now, but he knew they were out there.

One of them was Abner. There was no way to speak of it and not come back to him. What he felt for Abner was close to what Dean Winchester felt for Sam. It was protectiveness, pride, a deep ocean of affection. It was much like the sky, actually.

_"It's blue?" _

The question was faint, as if asked from far-off, and it made Gadreel smile quietly, softly. It was a question in Dean Winchester's voice, because Sam could just imagine it was what he would say. He wasn't Sam, not at all, but sometimes Gadreel had questions, or a certain thought, and there was an answer or remark in reply, from either of the brothers, that only he could hear. One that oftentimes, when it was Dean, he did not understand.

Sam's mind was fascinating, and sad. He held no self-worth, no value of himself. Much like his brother. By now, that belief of their own unimportance was so deeply ingrained, they wouldn't believe it no matter how many times they were told _"You are worth it."_

It broke an angel's heart. Two of them.

There was no wonder why Castiel followed them, no wonder where his loyalty came from. The reason was clear to anyone who would care enough to see it.

But the _lies_. They had to stop. It was wearing them down, these secrets they kept. How many times had they lied to one another? To themselves? They had to see what it was doing to them.

He had to _fix_ _this_. Such anguish he felt from two so young, they could not go on as they were. They were killing themselves. It wasn't quick, and it wasn't painless. The distance between the brothers would have to break them sometime, because already it was cracking them apart. He had urged Dean to hide his presence, but this . . . their determination to do something right, their powerful regard for each other . . . it changed everything.

The church had done what it could, but the words Dean had given to Sam were not enough. Love could be spoken, or it could be demonstrated, or both. Just knowing was all very well, too, but the brothers had to find something more to fight for. They had to be shown that they were not alone.

_"Don't you dare matchmake for us, Gadreel," _Dean Winchester's voice warned. _"Seriously."_

_Matchmake? What . . . ?_

_"Dude, really? Watch more TV, man."_

_I, ah . . . _

_"Oh, forget it."_

_Indeed._

* * *

". . . some tea. Don't complain, Dean, you're not the one who drinks it, and furthermore-"

"-_You must tell him_."

The eldest Winchester seemed taken aback. "Zeke? Dude, what the hell? I thought you wanted to wait for that. Y'know, keep yourself hidden or something."

"That is passed," Gadreel said. "You must tell him, for I cannot be certain that you will retain his trust once this is over."

There was a long beat of silence.

Gadreel looked at him directly in the eye. "Am I correct in assuming you would rather tell him a lie than the truth?"

"It's hard, sometimes," Dean said, somewhat awkwardly. "Lying's just . . . easier."

"His help is necessary. Essential, even."

"His help with what?"

"Metatron."

"What's he got to do with this?" Dean's eyes narrowed. "He planning something?"

"Yes."

"Well? What is it?"

"Godhood."

Dean whistled. "Aiming a bit high, isn't he?"

"He is assisted by the power of the Angel Tablet."

"Fuck."

"You must tell Sam, your friends Kevin Tran and Castiel of my presence."

"Yeah," Dean muttered. "We'll need all the help we can get."

Gadreel tilted his head slightly. "What are your qualms in telling your brother of me?"

There was a pause.

"He won't be happy," Dean admitted at last.

"Yes," Gadreel agreed. "But is his trust not more important than his anger?"

Dean sighed. "Of course it is." His brow furrowed. "But what if he throws you out?"

"He may do just that," Gadreel said, a small frown tugging at his lips in an unfamiliar expression of concern. "Nevertheless, we must brave his ire and convince him of my loyalty to you both."

Dean looked at him oddly. "Dude, can you at least _try_ speaking like a normal person?"

"We'll tell 'im the hard truth and duck when shit hits the fan," he deadpanned.

Dean burst out laughing. "Where did you hear that?"

"I myself did not," Gadreel admitted. "It is an odd expression that I've heard in passing from your brothers' psyche."

"And we're back to Fancy Phrases Man."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I only like it when woman beg me for something."

Dean Winchester was quickly becoming the most perplexing person he'd ever spoken to.

"Alright, let's get this over with," Dean said resignedly.

Gadreel drew back, letting Sam's consciousness come to the fore.

"Listen, Sam," he heard Dean say, trepidation in his voice. "We gotta talk."

". . . you always do this, it's not even . . . what?"

"Don't be mad, okay?"

"About what?"

Then shit hit the fan.

* * *

"You tricked me into being possessed, Dean! By an angel!" Sam was shouting ten minutes later.

"I know, I'm sorry, but man, you were dying-"

"So _what!_ I _wanted_ to die, Dean, I wanted to . . . I'm kicking him out."

Gadreel surged forward. _**Do not!**_

It startled Sam enough for him to hesitate a moment. Gadreel quickly used what little time he had left.

_You will die if you do this, Sam Winchester. Are you aware of the events that will follow your demise?_

"Yes," Sam hissed. "I am."

_You only imagine that you are. You do not realize that the world cannot survive Metatron's reign, and Dean cannot survive your death._

Sam paused. "Metatron?"

_Yes. He is attempting to become God. He wants to rule over all, his selfishness and need for power overcoming any love he ever harbored towards my brothers and sisters, our Father and His creations._

"And you know of this . . . how?" Sam said slowly.

_He has offered me an arrangement. I help him achieve his godhood, and I would be allowed to enter Heaven once more._

The truth was, he would not want to enter Heaven again, even if he could. He held no real family there, no brothers or sisters who would accept him. Not after what he had done.

He could feel Sam's mind raging.

_Be calm, Sam Winchester. You have overcome an Apocalypse, Lucifer, your own memories, Leviathans, and your brother's death. You shall overcome this as well._

"How?"

_I have accepted Metatron's offer._

"_What?_"

_As I have said, be calm. I have no intention of truly becoming his soldier, he is not my God. He is not my Father._

"How are you going to do it?"

_I will infiltrate his ranks, find the Angel Tablet, and break it. I must insist upon your help. I am not enough. No one man is. I cannot succeed in this alone. Will you aid me?_

"How do I know you don't want the Angel Tablet for yourself?"

_I have no use for it. I cannot return to Heaven, for it would not welcome me._

"Why not?"

_Will you allow me to speak, Sam Winchester? Dean must hear me when I say this, as well as you yourself._

". . . Just until you finish whatever it is you want to tell us."

_Very well._

And Gadreel was once again the foremost conscience.

Dean was looking at him questioningly, and also apprehensively. "What the hell was that?"

"I have lied to you, Dean Winchester," Gadreel admitted softly. "And for that I am sorry."

Dean's eyes narrowed on him. "What is it?"

"I am not Ezekiel, as I told you before."

"Who are you, then?"

"My name is Gadreel."

Dean's expression went blank. "Who?"

"I am the Angel who allowed Lucifer to enter the Garden of Eden."

His eyes were hard, staring into his own. "_Why_." It was not a question, but a command.

"I pleaded with him. I swear to you, I tried to stop it," Gadreel said, the words ripped from him in a wave of sudden emotion that he could not overcome. "I told him, _anything, but not this_. I told him he was my brother. I told him he was wrong to do this, to enter the Garden with those cruel intentions of his. It was not meant for such. But he would not listen, no matter how I beseeched him and grasped at reasons. We fought, my brother and I, but in the end I was overwhelmed. I ask not for absolution, for I am not repentant, nor ashamed. He was . . . he is my _brother_. I love him despite his terrible mistakes, despite his transgressions. I am only regretful I could not stop this one. I _tried_. Tried so hard. And I failed. _I am so sorry,_" he said softly, bleakly, the quick pace of his words slowing down. "So, so sorry." Then he fell silent, at a loss for anything more to say. After a moment, he came back to himself enough to pull back and allow Sam complete consciousness.

The brothers both looked at each other, an unspoken communication of which Gadreel could not perceive.

Finally, Sam sighed. "It's just as well. I don't really want to die so much, anyway."

Gadreel felt relief wash over him. _You will permit my continued presence?_

"Only until I'm healed. You'll leave when I'm better, right?"

_I vow it to you. I will alert you to your restored health once you're cured. Is this acceptable to you and Dean?_

"Yeah, it's fine."

_You have my gratitude, both of you. I apologize for my intrusion._

"Don't worry about it."

"Dudes, I'm standing right here," Dean interjected.

"Sorry, Dean."

"Yeah, right." He turned away, muttering, "We gotta get you a new vessel soon, this whole thing is creeping me out."

"Just think how I feel," Sam said, lips pressed together. Gadreel watched Dean cringe and turn back around, expression hunted. "You're, uh . . . still mad at me?"

"You lied to me, Dean. Again."

"And _I'm sorry_," he said deeply, meaning it. "I'm sorry I lied to you, I'm sorry I didn't listen to what you wanted. But you were dying, man, and I just . . . I couldn't let it happen. You know that if I can't save you, I'm gonna follow you. You know that."

"You could have gone on living without me," Sam said, voice softening.

"No, Sam. I couldn't. You don't get that. I can't do it without you, okay? I can't."

"Dean . . ."

He looked away, not meeting Sam's gaze. He cleared his throat. "How about we go and eat, huh? We can get Chinese and tofu or whatever health crap you're into."

"Yeah, Dean," Sam said softly. "That sounds good."

Gadreel settled back, sighing in silent relief at the knowledge that _this_, the ceasing of lies, the healing of new wounds, would only draw the brothers closer.

_"You should do this full-time," _Dean's voice said.

_Pardon?_

_"Stop begging my pardon, man. It's just getting embarrassing."_

_I don't understand._

_"Shocker."_

_Please cease mocking me, I do not appreciate it, _Gadreel told the voice politely.

_"No one appreciates being mocked. Do you see me complaining?"_

_Actually -_

_"Well, do you?"_

_I was going to say -_

_"Oh, shut up. I don't need your constant lowering attempts at getting my attention. You're even hearing my_ voice._ That's not normal, dude. You pining for me or what?"_

He had been tortured for millions upon thousands of years, but this could be the one thing that broke him.

_"You are, aren't you? Well, I'm sorry, but my heart is taken."_

_By yourself, I assume._

_"What do you take me for? A narcissist? Never mind, don't answer that. Her name is Baby, and she's a goddess. A pure, unadulterated thing of beauty."_

_Your vehicle,_ Gadreel said flatly._ You are taken . . . by your vehicle._

_"She not just a vehicle, Gads. She's a goddess. Get it right."_

_What did you just call me?_

_"Say it with me. Sixty-seven Chevrolet Impala."_

_I will not._

_"Traitor. I thought you were pining for me."_

_I _told_ you -_

_"Oops, sorry, gotta go, Gads."_ Pause._ "I dare you to say that five times, fast."_

_Why would I -_

_"See ya."_

_Good riddance._

There was no reply.

All in all, Sam was growing on him.

* * *

**Next Up: Something's missing.**

_**Weird Randomness!**_

0000

Gadreel studied the beard that was developing on his vessel's chin. After a moment, he stated, "I think I shall name this mass of hair . . . Sam."

0000

Elsewhere, Sam Winchester suddenly got the urge to get a full-body shave.

0000

Becky shot upright, her _Sam Senses_ going haywire. "Don't worry, Sam," she vowed, determination glowing in her fangirl eyes, "I'll save you!"

0000

Sam abruptly had an image of himself wearing a colorful dress, trapped in a tall tower, singing to the birds as he gazed longing out of the only window in the room and brushing his hair, from the top of his fuzzy head to the huge puddle at his dainty slippered feet.

He immediately went down to make a deal with Crowley for extra protection against demonic beings.

0000

Becky felt thwarted.

0000


	14. Fade Out Like a Photograph

**AN: You are amazing for my ego, CallMeAnonymous9. Absolutely amazing for it. **

**P.S. You're awesome, too.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Supernatural, Sam and Dean's self-esteem would be bigger than Disneyland, Lucifer and Michal would be besties, Kevin Tran would rule the world, Mary Winchester would take over Hell with kindness and cookies, Crowley would be Mary's super-crazy-awesome sidekick, and Meg would be a genius billionaire playgirl philanthropist. Alas, none of that is true, so I can only assume that I don't.**

**Summary: Something's missing.**

* * *

"What's goin' on, Sam? You've been really out of it lately."

"I know, Dad. I'm sorry. It's just . . . I feel as if there's something missing." Sam furrowed his brow. "Something big."

John Winchester turned sharply to look at him. "Your psychic powers . . . are they acting up?"

"No, they're still gone," Sam replied. "No visions, just a feeling."

John turned back to watch the road. "A feeling . . . of something missing?"

He saw Sam nod in his peripheral vision. "Yeah. It's, uh . . . important. Something important. I just don't know what."

_"Sammy, you sap," _Dean muttered from the backseat, arms folded across his chest. _"Should've known you'd make even completely forgetting me into a chick-flick moment."_

A small smile decorated Sam's lips, even as his gaze never left the scenery swiftly passing by his window.

"Something funny?" John asked.

Sam blinked. "What?"

"You're smiling."

Sam touched his mouth, as if surprised. "Oh." He removed his hand, expression puzzled. "I was just thinking about our last case."

"The vengeful spirit? Doesn't bring to mind anything to smile about."

"When I was thrown into a wall," he clarified.

"Still not laughing."

Sam shook his head. "That's not what I'm talking about. When I was thrown into a wall, I could have sworn someone tried to help me."

"Someone?" John repeated, eyes narrowing on the road. "Or something?"

"Someone," Sam decided.

"That why you hesitated?"

Sam paused. "Well . . . not exactly."

John sent him a searching glance. "Then what was it?"

Sam's gaze traveled to the mirror, where it showed an image of the empty backseat. "I thought I heard someone say my name," he murmured.

* * *

**Next up: ****Pure and utter crack.**** A witch curses two demon-hunting brothers into being affectionate. What could possibly go wrong? **

_**Weird Randomness!**_

0000

_"Sam_ . . . _Saaam_ . . . yo, can you hear me, Sam?"

The young Winchester squinted at the air, the concussion making it hard to focus on anything. "Sand?"

"Uh, no."

"Sad?"

"What? No, man . . ."

"Salad?"

"Not in a million years."

"Saddle?"

"No. Dude-"

"Safari?"

"Sam-"

"Sassafras?"

"Okay, that's it. _John! John, get in here!_"

"Shhggg," Sam drooled.

"_JOHN!_"

0000


	15. The Downfall

**AN: I guess, if I were to give a dedication, it would be to CallMeAnonymous9. Seriously, if you're down, I have hopes that this chapter will cheer you up. Also, because I took so long to put it up, I'm posting the next chapter immediately. It's really short, but I rather like it.**

**Disclaimer: The fact that I'm female has nothing to do with it. My name could totally be Eric Kripke.**

**Warnings: Mild language.**

**Summary: ****Pure and utter crack.**** A witch curses two demon-hunting brothers into being affectionate. What could possibly go wrong? **

* * *

Dean avoided looking at his brother.

It wasn't anything personal, really. He just had this insane urge to reach out and . . . well . . . _touch_ him. Maybe ruffle his hair or pat his shoulder.

Or hug him.

_No, he couldn't give in!_ He had to resist the witch's curse, dammit. Why did it have to be this particular curse, anyway? Couldn't she have just locked him inside his own mind or something? But no, it had to be some kind of twisted cuddling curse.

Damn her. Trying to ruin him in the eyes of all men, including himself.

Sammy glanced up at him from his chair in the motel room. "Uh, Dean?"

"What?"

"Is something wrong?"

"Nothing. Why?"

"Well, you don't normally stand so close, and . . ." He nodded toward Dean's hand, which was resting on his shoulder. ". . . I just thought that something was bothering you."

Dean snatched his hand off to stare at it, appalled.

His traitorous body was betraying him, going skipping to the Dark Side without even a by-your-leave, giving out affection all willy-nilly, looking to destroy his very masculinity!

Alright, that may have been a bit of an exaggeration. But he was still going to kill that damned witch for this.

He came back to himself, suddenly aware that Sam was looking at him with concern. His hand had settled itself on Dean's arm, his brow furrowed with worry. "Is everything alright, Dean?"

He pulled back, immediately regretting it (_and swearing silently and colorfully to himself for it. Stupid curse_) when Sam's hand slipped from his arm. "Whoa, boy. None of that touchy-feely crap, yeah?"

Now that he that about it, though, Sam seemed slightly more attentive than usual ever since the witch had escaped. Either he was feeling like a random bonding moment, or the curse had gotten to him, too.

Sam sighed. "How am I supposed to know when something's wrong if you won't tell me what it is?"

"It's nothing," Dean said dismissively.

A frown tugged at his lips. "It's never nothing with you, Dean."

"Sam, drop it. I'm fine."

"Really?"

"Oh, for- yes, Sam. Really."

"Then why is your arm around my shoulders?"

"Huh?"

They both looked at Dean's arm, which was, indeed, slung around Sam's neck. He hadn't even noticed himself doing it.

There was a moment of silence where neither of them moved.

Finally, Dean said, "You know, Sammy, I think we've got a problem here."

"You think? I've been fighting the urge to-to _hug_ you for several minutes now."

"Aw, Sammy-"

"Shut up, Dean. You can't tell me you haven't been feeling it, too."

"Do you have to put it like that? It sounds so . . . wrong."

"Dean, focus. Daniella Moncreif-"

"Who?"

"The witch."

"Oh. Right."

Sam rolled his eyes, but continued. "Remember what she said?"

"_'You have great eyes'_?"

"No."

"_'I want you'_?"

"Dean."

"_'My sister's cuter than yours'_?"

"What? No. She did not say that."

"I was talking to her. She took one look at your long, flowing hair and . . ."

"Dean!"

"Okay, I lied. But you should've seen the look on your face, dude."

Sam looked at him, unimpressed.

Dean shrugged. "You have to admit, it was funny."

"What did she really say, Dean?"

He quoted, "_'Oh, my Granth Sahib, can you say_ dysfunctional?_ You guys are screwed, boy. What're ya gonna do when it's ya'll against the world and then one of ya screws up, unknowingly gets addicted to a bloodthirsty serial-killer blade, screws up even more and eventually gets turned into a demon, and all 'cause ya could no longer trust your blood kin. You emotionally repressed idiots. Well, lemme jus' fix that for ya, yeah?'_ Then she kind of cackled a little bit."

Sam paused. "She said that?"

"Yeah. I don't think she meant it to sound so weird, though. On second thought, she _is_ a witch, so she probably did."

"Did she say anything about a sibling of her own?"

"Well, she really did mention a sister."

Sam tilted his head, thinking. "Hm."

"Don't worry, Sam," Dean said casually, "I'm sure Sis-Witch and her girlish looks have nothing on yours."

Sam shot him a look. "Dean, this is serious."

"Nah, you're just insecure."

He let out a breath. _"Dean."_

"Fine, fine. So, what, she's just trying to get us closer or something?"

Sam's expression smoothed out. "That would be my guess."

"Doesn't mean we have to do what she wants."

"You're leaning on me."

Dean straightened, then paused. He pointed at his brother. "We do not mention this." Ignoring the twinge that came with walking away from Sam, he went over and fell back onto the couch. "So what do we have to do to break the spell?"

Sam furrowed his brow, looking at the screen of his computer. "I don't know. I'll try to find out, but it might take awhile."

"We'll be fine," Dean said confidently. "We're strong enough to withstand the spell, no matter how long it takes."

* * *

Dean really, really, really wanted to hug his brother.

It was this same impulse- _no, a longing, curse it_\- that made him stay put when Sam suddenly leapt up from his chair to throw his long, hairy, overgrown Sasquatch arms around him.

It was utterly merciless, forcing him to sink into his brother's embrace despite his protestations, which he voiced vehemently, almost violently.

"Mm."

Sam patted his back while Dean's face pressed into his brothers' shoulder.

He dissolved. His bones were liquid as he slumped in Sam's arms, he could swear he felt his face melting off.

He had no regrets.

They stayed that way for ten long minutes before anyone spoke.

"We should do this again . . . sometime . . . a lot . . ." Dean mumbled into Sam's neck.

Sam kind of hunched into him, like a big, clingy blanket. Except heavier and several times more liable to talk. "Yeah."

"Why don't we ever do this, anyway?" Dean asked, sounding dazed, voice muffled by, well, Sam.

"You don't like chick-flick moments."

"Screw chick-flick moments. This is better."

There was a moment of comfortable silence.

Then Dean said, "This isn't gonna wear off anytime soon, is it?"

"Probably not."

"Hallelujah."

_We're doomed._

The worst part was, he couldn't even bring himself to care.

* * *

**Next up: Home alone. Bored Lucifer. Utterly _not_ amused Sam. What could be better?**

**By the way, Daniella Moncreif is wholly a creature of my own invention, as is her sister. Just in case you were wondering.**

_**Weird Randomness!**_

0000

Daniella Moncreif pushed her hair out of her face. "So who's next on the list?"

Her sister, Devon Moncreif, inspected her notepad. "It says here . . . Lucifer Morningstar an' Michael something-or-other."

Daniella tsked. "Looks like we got our work cut out for us, Dev."

Devon shrugged. "Nothin' we can't handle. We'll jus' sprinkle a bit of our special homemade Hug-Fest tonic on 'em and we'll be done."

Her older sibling snorted. "More like a whole tub of Hug-Fest. They're worse than those Winchester boys woulda been."

"Mm," Devon agreed.

There was a brief moment of comfortable silence.

"Hey, Danny . . ."

"Yeah, Devy?"

"What are we goin' to do about that dang Raphael and li'l bro Castiel?"

"We'll give them our Love-Love-Love mix, of course!" Daniella exclaimed.

Devon gave her an admiring glance. "You're the worst, Danny."

"I know. Isn't it great?"

"Extraordinary," Devon said without missing a beat.

Daniella cuddled her sister close. "Aww, you're so cute. You jus' make me want to hold you and adore you and keep you forever."

"So the usual, then."

0000


	16. Get Thee Behind Me

**Disclaimer: I will someday rule the world, and yet I will never own Supernatural. There's something seriously wrong with this picture.**

**Summary: ****Home alone. Bored Lucifer. Utterly _not_ amused Sam. What could be better?**

* * *

"Sam. Sam. Sam. Sam. Sam. Hey, Sammy. Sam. Sa-"

"Oh, for God's sake, _what_?"

"Say yes."

"No."

"But why not, Sammy?"

"I have absolutely no idea, Lucifer. _Oh_, _wait_. I think I just figured it out."

"Ouch. You get me right here, Sam. In the _heart_."

"Right."

"It hurts, I tell you."

"Put a Band-Aid on the wound and shut up."

"Cruel."

"I don't care."

"Cold."

"_I. Don't. Care._"

"Rude."

"Go away."

* * *

**Next up: ****They kept him company. He could hear their voices and see them as if they had physical bodies. **

**Yes, next up is Crazy!Cas with a side helping of StrandedInAnAlternateWorld!Cas. Look forward to it.**

_**Weird Randomness!**_

0000

"Sam, I'm bored."

0000

"Sam, Dean's being an idiot."

0000

"Sam, you're being an idiot."

0000

"Sam, that shapeshifter's being an idiot."

0000

"Sam, everyone's being an idiot. Except me, of course. I'm never an idiot."

0000

"Sam, there's nothing interesting going on."

0000

"Sam, you're not paying attention to me."

0000

"I don't care if the insane werewolf is trying to eat you, Sam. I'm missing my TV show. How can you be so selfish?"

0000

"Sam-"

The younger Winchester suddenly started flinging insults at the Devil in a blind rage, waving his arms around and practically spitting on him, his voice rising with every word until it was almost a shriek. Finally, he started foaming at the mouth and collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

Lucifer blinked. "What's his problem?" he wondered.

0000

"Sam, I'm bored."

Sam dove for his gun.

0000


	17. Doctor Winchester

**Disclaimer: If I owned Supernatural . . . I would be rich. And worshipped. Alas, I'm no such thing, so what does that tell you?**

**Summary: ****They kept him company. He could hear their voices and see them as if they had physical bodies. **

* * *

They kept him company.

He could hear their voices and see them as if they had physical bodies. Not all of them, but perhaps that was a blessing.

It had started the moment he'd fallen into this world, beginning as only a few ghosts before more joined them. So far, none of the Winchesters had spoken up. That was a shame, for he could have used their help. They were both highly intelligent, and their thoughts would have been welcome.

"You know you're only making it worse by not lying," Meg said, striding along beside him.

"I will stay until I have sufficient power to leave," Castiel said simply.

"Because your stay in that other hospital was just so _cozy,"_ she said sarcastically.

Castiel smiled slightly. "I have missed you, Meg."

"Aw, Clarence. Stop. You're breaking my heart."

"This is sarcasm, isn't it?"

"I think you're getting better at this, Feathers," Crowley said as he appeared behind him, hands shoved casually into his pockets. "Congratulations."

Cas chose to ignore him, and followed the nurse to the room in which he would meet the man who would help him.

Dr. Dean Winchester.

He stepped through the door and met the green gaze of the man whom he had saved, and who had saved him in return.

"Hello, Dean."

The doctor seemed taken aback by Castiel's use of his first name, but caught his balance only a moment later. "Hey. Castiel Novak, right?"

"Yes."

Dean waved a hand. "Go ahead and sit down, Cas."

Castiel did so, ignoring Crowley's hissed whisper of, "_Winchesters_. _They're_ _everywhere."_

Dean leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk. "So you're an angel, huh?"

"I am," Castiel said.

"You're not like any angel I've ever seen."

"Oh, if only he knew. Right, Cassie?" Gabriel nudged him.

"Have you seen very many?" Castiel asked, tilting his head, forgoing at the moment to reply to his brother.

Dean's lips quirked. "Alright, you've got me there."

"Got you . . . ?"

"He means that you're making sense," Gabriel translated. Castiel nodded to him in thanks.

"So what's up?"

Castiel cast a puzzled glance towards the ceiling.

"He means 'what's going on', Cas," Gabriel said, rolling his eyes.

"I see."

"Who're you talking to?" Dean asked, looking interested.

"My brother," Castiel said, "Gabriel."

"That's me, by the way," Gabriel added, idly leaning back in his chair. "In case you couldn't tell."

"Really? What'd he say?" Dean questioned.

"He told me what you meant by your enquiry of '_What's_ _up_'."

"You didn't know?"

"I sometimes have trouble understanding such things," Castiel admitted. "Though recent events have changed a lot of that."

"What happened?"

"One of my oldest brothers took over Heaven," Castiel said sorrowfully. "It was a terrible affair. My siblings had Fallen, all except for him. It never should have happened, but I . . . I was foolish, Dean. Very foolish. I have made so many mistakes."

"Don't blame yourself, brother," Samandriel said comfortingly, resting a hand that held only the faintest of warmth on Castiel's shoulder. "Metatron betrayed you. The blame lies on his shoulders, not yours."

"You give me too much credit," Castiel said, meeting his brother's gaze. "It was my error in judgment that caused the Angels to Fall. I thought I had changed, but it seems I am still just as naïve as ever."

"Who is it now?" Dean asked, watching curiously.

"My brother, Samandriel. He tells me that the fault is not mine."

"Why would it be?"

"I trusted my brother," Castiel said in a low voice. "I did a wrong I cannot ever make right."

"Big brothers are supposed to protect their little brothers," Dean said firmly. "Okay? They're not supposed to betray them. If it's anyone's fault, it's your brother's."

"You never change, Dean," Castiel said wonderingly, almost smiling. "That . . . that is good."

"Until he decides to go all mad-scientist and bring his brother back to life, of course," Gabriel said casually.

"Gabriel."

"What? Oh, no, those sad little puppy-dog eyes won't work on me, Cassie. So just them away. I said put them away. Cassie. Cas, stop it. It's not working. So just . . . _okay_, okay, I'm sorry! _Father,_ you maniac," he muttered. "Take a joke."

* * *

**Next up: The Devil is bored of being evil. Sam has a suggestion for him.**

_**Weird Randomness!**_

0000

"You never change, Dean," Castiel said wonderingly, almost smiling. "That . . . that is good."

"Until he decides to go all mad-scientist and bring his brother back to life, of course," Gabriel said casually.

Castiel looked at Dean carefully. "Dean . . . you have not been experimenting with human life, have you?"

The doctor paled, nervously glancing down at the desk drawer that held various metal utensils and a cattle prod. "No . . ."

"Dean . . ." Cas looked at him reproachfully.

"Cas," Gabriel said. "Just run."

Crowley peered over Dean's shoulder. "Is that a harpoon under his desk?"

"There's a machine gun in the closet," Meg said. "It's loaded."

"Dean," Cas said, "I think you need help."

0000


	18. The Devil and Domesticity

**AN: I'd like to thank CallMeAnonymous9 and TheInsaneLoricWhovian, whose reviews made me practically hyperventilate with glee. No, trust me, it's a good thing.**

**Disclaimer: Why, yes, yes I do own Supernatural. What? No, I'm not lying. How dare you, my name certainly _is_ Eric Kripke! I changed it legally just a minute ago . . .**

**Summary: ****The Devil is bored of being evil. Sam has a suggestion for him.**

* * *

"Being evil is so boring, Sam," Lucifer complained.

Sam stared at him. "You're joking, right?"

"Why would I joke about this? It's like . . . talking to a rock. It doesn't do anything, and then people start to take notice and they cart you off to an asylum because they think you're insane, which you are, but it's not like being anything else would be more interesting."

"Well, what do you want me to do about it?"

"You're the one I torment when I'm bored," Lucifer exclaimed. "Do_ something_ about it!"

"Why don't you try being good for once?" Sam suggested wearily. "It can't hurt, right?"

"Being good . . ." Lucifer mumbled. "How the Hell would I do that?"

"I don't know. Just . . . watch people who are good and do what they do."

Lucifer thought about it, then sighed with exaggerated annoyance. "Fine."

So he did.

* * *

Sam woke up to the smell of coffee and something cooking.

He opened his eyes, squinting in at the sunlight, and slowly sat up. He glanced at the clock, and nearly choked.

It was two in the afternoon. He'd slept nearly seven whole hours. He hadn't gotten that much sleep in . . . years, really.

He got up and walked into the kitchen, then instantly halted, struck by the sight of Lucifer at the stove, scraping scrambled eggs onto a plate. He was wearing an apron. Just a white one, without frills or words, but it still creeped the young demon-hunter out.

Lucifer turned to see him. "Oh, Sam," he said casually. "You're up."

"That's all you can say? _'You're up_'?" Sam sputtered. "What are you _doing_?"

Lucifer looked at him as if _he_ were the insane one. "Making you breakfast, of course."

Sam couldn't believe what he'd just heard. "What?"

"Saw it on TV," Lucifer told him. "It was the only thing on that actually seemed somewhat promising. You said to do what other people do, and despite how . . . domestic . . . it is, it was either this or a real-life reenactment of _Marley and Me_. Also, breaking eggs excites me."

"Yeah, you're a real family man," Sam muttered as he slid into a chair, still a little freaked out.

"Not a man," Lucifer sang as he grabbed the plate of eggs and let it clatter onto the table.

Sam stared down at them suspiciously. "You didn't put anything in them, did you?"

Lucifer rolled his eyes. "As if I would ruin the moment." He grabbed a fork from the drawer and handed it over.

Sam hesitated, then slowly, bracing himself, raised some egg to his mouth and ate it.

Surprisingly, it tasted nothing like human flesh. It was pretty good, actually.

Sam nodded at Lucifer cautiously. "Thanks."

The Devil paused, cocking his head. "Hmm."

"What?"

"Oh, nothing you need to worry about."

Sam eyed him warily, then shrugged. "Where's Dean?"

"He went out to go eat some toxic waste."

". . . he did what?"

"It's called a hamburger, Sam. Made with extra onions, a gallon of grease, and the violent murder of that rare little thing we call mental and physical health," Lucifer intoned.

Sam snorted quietly and stabbed another pile of eggs. It was official. Lucifer was a hypocrite.

Suddenly, the door opened, and Dean walked in. He paused at the sight of Sam up and awake. "Hey, Sammy. You make that yourself?"

"No," Sam mumbled through a mouth full of food.

Dean closed the door and collapsed in a chair at the table. "So where'd you get it?"

"Lucifer made it."

Dean's expression didn't change. "_What_."

Sam jerked a thumb at Lucifer, who waved at Dean as he leaned against the counter. The apron had disappeared, leaving him in a white long-sleeved shirt and jeans.

"The Devil made you breakfast," Dean said.

"The Devil made me breakfast," Sam confirmed, shoving another forkful of eggs into his mouth.

"Either I'm going mad, or the rest of the world is psychotic and I'm the only sane one here."

Lucifer rolled his eyes. "Please, if anything, it would be the other way around."

Sam relayed Lucifer's words to Dean, whose expression turned offended. _"Excuse_ me? I'm sane. I'm perfectly sane."

The unconvinced expression on both Sam and Lucifer's faces said otherwise, though.

* * *

**Next up: Adam's just been dragged out of Hell . . . and he has no idea where he is.**

_**Weird Randomness!**_

0000

"So I'm going to need a few things in order to make my special _Intestinal Surprise_-"

"_**No.**_"

0000


	19. That Old Winchester Charm

**AN: That's exactly what I was thinking when I wrote that part with Lucifer, CallMeAnonymous9. I'm thrilled you thought the same.**

**Warnings: The language of Winchesters.**

**Disclaimer: The only Supernatural thing I own is my inexplicable ability to weird people out. **

**Summary: ****Adam's just been dragged out of Hell . . . and he has no idea where he is.**

* * *

Okay, dragging him out of Hell after forever and fifty years, then dropping him off in some kind of park in _Ohshit,_ _WhereTheHellAmI_? Not cool. Seriously not cool.

Adam flinched at the sudden pain in his head. "Shit," he mumbled.

A little girl sitting on a nearby bench looked at him with wide blue eyes. "You said a bad word," she breathed.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Sorry."

"Are you okay?" she asked, with childish concern.

_Well, actually . . ._

"No," he said. "Not really."

She patted the seat next to her. "What's wrong?"

He sat down beside her, slumping a little bit. "Just got out of Hell."

"The one Mama talks about at church?" the girl asked in a hushed tone.

He snorted, bitterness lining his expression. "That's the one."

"Why were you there? Did you do something bad?"

"Nothing to warrant a trip Downstairs," he muttered. "I just kinda got caught up in something. One of my brothers was with me for awhile, but someone . . . something got him out." His gaze drifted to the ground. "At least one of us got freed."

"What's it like?" the girl asked with a child's curiosity.

"Well, it wasn't much fun, for one thing."

"You okay?" she questioned again.

Adam sighed. "A lot better than I've been in a long . . . long time, that's for sure. Someone must have done something to me, otherwise I'd be a lot less coherent right now."

"Co . . . co . . ." The girl scrunched up her face at the frustrating word.

"Understandable," he corrected.

There was a brief silence before the girl looked back up at him. "Am I gonna go to Hell?" she asked with that strange solemnity some kids used.

His voice softened. "Nah, sweetheart. A good girl like you? You've got nothing to worry about."

She beamed at him.

_The Winchester genes strike again_.

After a long moment, it dawns on him why her happy expression doesn't cause him to smile, although it does soften his expression.

He's forgotten how.

Obviously, he'd have to relearn. Practice in a mirror, so as not to scare the kiddies.

Yay.

_Damn you, Satan, _he thought bitterly. _Damn you all._

* * *

**Up next: It's just a day in the life.**

_**Weird Randomness!**_

0000

"Someone's cursing my name." Lucifer glanced around the Cage suspiciously. "I can feel it."

"I wonder why," Michael said sarcastically.

"Oh, like you're all innocence and purity," the Devil retorted.

"I _am_ pure. I'm an Archangel. I'm about as pure as you can get."

Lucifer sniffed. "I'm an Archangel, too."

"You're a demon," Michael rebutted.

Lucifer scowled. "Your mom."

0000


	20. A Day in the Life

**AN: I'd like to thank CallMeAnonymous9. Seriously. Your reviews make me feel like I just found a huge pile of gold under my pillow. I'd also like to thank TheInsaneLoricWhovian for their reviews as well. Someday, when I rule all of humankind, you two can be my advisors.**

**Disclaimer: Me? Own Supernatural? Please. If I did, the Apocalypse would have ended in one huge group hug.**

**Summary: It's just a day in the life.**

* * *

**A Day in the Life of Dean and Sam Winchester**

* * *

"Has there been anything weird going on?"

"Weird? Like how?"

"Cold spots, odd smells, things moving around . . ." He paused. "Have you, by any chance, found some sulfur anywhere?"

"Well, now that you mention it, there was an . . . interesting . . . _*cough*_ . . . aroma emanating from the bathroom, but we called a plumber and fixed it right up." She looked at him expectantly.

Dean "Son of a Bitch" Winchester sighed and gave her his card before taking his leave. His brother walked with him at his side.

Sam "Jerk" Winchester glanced up as someone suddenly shouted, "You there!"

A petite old lady with white curly hair waddled over to them, fixing the boys with a gimlet stare. "You're the FBI?"

Dean gave her a charming smile. "Yes, ma'am."

"Have you found my cat yet?" she asked.

"Your cat, ma'am?"

"Well, that's why you're here isn't it?" She frowned fiercely. "To find my cat? Muffy's disappearance is the reason I called you people."

Dean's eyebrows rose. "You called the FBI to find your cat?"

"Yes. An Agent Henrickson answered the phone. He was very rude. He yelled something about being on the trail of two murderers. He said he didn't have time for my poor Muffy." She sniffed. "I gave him a right talking-to for that. Young people these days are so impatient."

Dean was having trouble stifling a laugh as the old woman continued, "Completely unlike my husband, of course. He had all the time in the world for me." She sighed wistfully. "Until he didn't."

Dean shifted uncomfortably. Suddenly the formidable dragoness looked very frail. She peered up at them with hopeful blue eyes. "I don't suppose you nice boys would like to come in for a treat? I made an apple pie for my daughter and grandchildren, but they canceled at the last minute. Nobody seems to have any time to just sit down and talk anymore."

Sam nudged Dean with his elbow. He sighed and followed the woman, whose expression had brightened and she began chatting away happily as she lead them into her home filled with the smell of freshly baked pie.

What the hell, he thought, it was pie. Apple, no less.

"Um, ma'am? Is that your cat?" Sam asked, standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

There was a delighted cry of, "_Muffy_!"

Muffy glanced up disinterestedly. "Mow."

* * *

**A Day in the Life of Adam Milligan**

* * *

"C'mon, let me out. I can give you anything your heart desires."

"No." Adam didn't look up from his Solitaire.

The demon in the Devil's Trap continued, "Women? I can get you that. Money? You want money? I can get you that, too. Oh! Your mom! I could bring your mom back to life!"

Adam glanced up. "My mom's still alive," he lied.

"Oh." The demon paused. "Must've been some other guy. How about a cool car, then? Or hair? You look like the kind of man who'd go bald early in life."

Adam rolled his eyes and proceeded to ignore him. He hoped Sam and Dean would get home soon. He wasn't sure how much longer he could take this stupidity.

* * *

**A Day in the Life of Crowley**

* * *

"I don't care if the cake was a lie!" Crowley violently ended the call in the middle of his minion's reply. He buried his face in his hands and just breathed for a while, standing in the calming living room of Bobby's house.

Adam Millligan wandered in, a glass of orange juice in his hand. "What's going on?"

"Demons," Crowley groaned. "Their stupidity knows no bounds."

Adam gave him a sympathetic look. "Tell me about it."

* * *

**Up next: Sam's days in the cage weren't at all what Dean thought they were.**

_**Weird Randomness!**_

0000

_Soon,_ Muffy thought. _Soon, the world shall be mine!_

0000


	21. Four Geeks in a Cage

**AN: Once again, I must heap thanks upon CallMeAnonymous9 for the review that has birthed a revolution. Oh, yes. _The Old Lady's Name._**

**It's Bernadette Mustang, by the way. Nice name, Bernadette. Always liked it. (Your brotp just became my brotp. Curse you, CMA9. You've corrupted me . . . in the greatest of ways.)**

**Disclaimer: Roses are red, violets are blue, the owner of Supernatural would most likely prefer I not lie about owning it myself, thanks.**

**Summary: ****Sam's days in the cage weren't at all what Dean thought they were.**

* * *

Lucifer groaned. "Bored."

"It's only been a few days, learn some patience," Sam said without looking up from his book.

"I've been here for millions of years, Winchester. Don't tell me it's only been a few days. I've learned all the patience I can stand."

Adam glanced up from where he was leaning back against Sam's shoulder. "Don't you have anything better to do than bother us?"

"No," Lucifer said bluntly. "No, I don't."

"Don't take it out on us, we wouldn't even be here if you and Michael would just get over yourselves. Hug it out, why don't you. That should do wonders."

"You want us to . . . _hug it out_," Lucifer repeated.

"Are you going deaf from all those years listening to yourself whine? Yes, I want you to hug it out. Don't be a dick."

Lucifer glared at him.

"Oh, have I offended you? I'm sorry, I didn't know your feelings were so fragile."

"Do not speak to me in such impertinent tones, insignificant human," Lucifer hissed. "I am the Prince of Darkness, the Father of Lies, the Tempter. I am Satan, El Diablo, _Ba'al Zebub_, I am Hell's foremost ruler and Heaven's greatest enemy!"

"What you are is a grade-A douchebag."

Lucifer deflated. "Can't we look passed that?"

"Yeah, no."

"Anyone know what Michael's doing?" Sam interrupted just as Lucifer had opened his mouth to fling an insult at Adam.

They all turned to see the other Archangel leaning in a chair, eyes closed and fingers laced together on his abdomen, completely ignoring his fellow prisoners.

Adam squinted. "Is that an iPod?"

"_Michael!_" Lucifer barked.

The Angel took out one of the earbuds and gave his brother a look. "Is there a reason you have called for my attention, Lucifer?"

"You are trapped inside a Cage. How can you just sit there, doing nothing?"

"Is there any possible way of escape from this cell? No? Then I shall do what I please."

Lucifer glared daggers at him and opened his mouth to lash out.

Sam settled back down and set aside his book, letting his mind drift to better times.

Lucifer swung around, eyes drilling into him. "I sense joyful memories," he declared.

"Fee fie fo fum," Adam muttered.

Sam's lips twitched.

Lucifer pointed an accusing finger at him. "It's you, isn't it? How dare you be happy when the rest of us are miserable!"

"Speak for yourself, jerk," Adam mumbled.

"That's my brother," Michael said. "Unbelievably self-absorbed."

The Devil ignored them. "What do you have to say for yourself, Winchester? _Hmm_?"

Sam gazed at him blandly. "All of this? Your fault. Completely your fault."

"He's right, you know," Adam added. "We wouldn't even be in this mess if you hadn't decided to end the world."

"It was _prophesied_!" Lucifer cried. "How can you blame me for this? I was just doing my _job_!"

"Well," Michael started, somewhat uncomfortably, "Father never _specifically told us _to begin the End of Days. And Azazel always was a shady prick."

Adam closed his eyes. "Oh, my God. Michael the Archangel just said _prick_. The Bible is ruined for me."

"Lucifer's a whiny brat," Sam replied. "And I was his vessel. Just think how I feel."

Lucifer scowled at them. "You're really demeaning me, you know."

"Yay," Adam said.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Gee, I can't imagine how _that _feels."

"What you just did is a display of blatant hypocrisy," Michael told his brother.

"Surrounded on all sides," Lucifer muttered.

Sam's patience was quickly running out. "Are you going to continue complaining, or can I get back to my book now?"

Adam looked at him curiously. "What're you reading?"

"_Good Omens_, by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaimen."

"I've read Terry Pratchett's books," he remarked.

Sam smiled. "How'd you like them?"

"They were actually pretty interesting. Great characters. Fascinating plots." His lips quirked. "Amazing humor."

Lucifer looked at the book thoughtfully. "Perhaps I shall try it."

"I'll bet you've read _Pride and Prejudice_, am I right?" Adam asked.

Lucifer averted his gaze.

"It wasn't that bad," Sam offered.

There was nothing Adam could say to that.

Well, except maybe, "Nerds."

* * *

**Next up: Sometimes what kills you makes you stronger.**

_**Weird Randomness!**_

0000

_Sniff, sniff, sob. _"Oh, Elizabeth!" Dean blubbered.

0000


	22. Styx and Stones

**Disclaimer: Wherefore art thou, Supernatural ownership? Wherefore art-**_**Ow!**_** Stop hitting me! **_**Stop it! **_**Geez . . .**

**Warnings: Angst. _So much angst._ Okay, not actually that much.**

**Summary: Sometimes what kills you makes you stronger.**

* * *

He looks into familiar hazel eyes, feels the rope that confines him to the chair digging into his skin, says, "_Don't_, _Sammy_ . . ."

"It's Sam," his brother says sharply. Then, softer, "It's _Sam_."

"Sam, please . . ."

"I'm . . . I'm gonna get you out. You're not him," he adds. "Stop pretending. Just . . . _stop_."

"I am him," Dean says. He tries not to sound desperate, or heartbroken.

He doesn't really care if he fails.

"You're a demon."

"I'm your brother. I'm Dean." But he can see that it's not going to work.

"_I don't believe you._"

"I know, but, but Sammy, I'm still me. I'm still _me_," he says again, as if those will be the words to convince his brother.

_(They're not.)_

"Dean's not a demon," Sam says.

"You don't understand," Dean almost pleads. "Hell's not . . . it's not _like_ here. It's longer. Time's different there. _Listen to me,_ Sam."

His brother falters. "I-I don't . . ."

"_Please_," he says. "_Please_."

Sam exhales unsteadily. "Okay."

"I wasn't down there four months, Sam. It was decades . . . centuries before anyone pulled me out. I don't know how long I was in Hell. But, um, I know I told you I was Dean, but I'm not . . . much of him anymore. I'm still _kind_ _of_ him," he rushes to say. "I remember you and Dad and Bobby, I still care, I _do_."

Sam's eyes are filled with tears, but they don't fall.

"Something, uh, something went wrong. I think. I'm not supposed to care. But." He tries for a smile. It comes out uncertain, almost . "_Look_. Right?"

Sam can't answer. The words build up in his throat, but in the end, they never make it off his tongue.

"They tried to make me stop. It didn't work. Not . . . not like they thought it did. Um." He clears his throat. "They, uh, _broke_ me. In a different way. You know I used to try and not care? Well. It didn't really work back then, at least not at first. But I ignored that. That and everything to do with _feeling_. Kind of." He thinks for a moment, then adds, "Hell stopped that. Made me care even more. Uh. Maybe. Just a bit." There's a slight pause. Then he says, "Trust me?"

And really, what other choice is there?

* * *

**Next up: A demon's true visage is no pretty thing.**

_**Weird Randomness!**_

0000

"I'll trust you, Dean," he says gravely. "But only if you stand on your head while dancing the polka and, at the same time, juggling three grapes with your feet."

There's a pause.

Then Dean says, "I have just one question . . ."

Sam makes 'go on' motions with his hands.

"Are those grapes organic? Because I'm not touching anything that's not organi-Sam? Where're you goin'? Sam? Sam?_"_

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	23. Some Deliberate Disguises

**AN: So, thanks to CallMeAnonymous9 for the review that seriously _nearly killed me with sheer joy._ When I've dominated the world and you're my advisor, ****people will worship you**_**.**_** I'll make it so.**

**And because this chapter's so short, I'll be posting the next one soon.**

**Disclaimer: The only supernatural thing I own is my sister. (Don't tell her I said that. Like, ever. I'm too young to die.)**

**Summary: A demon's true visage is no pretty thing.**

* * *

Dean opened his pitch-black eyes.

He slowly sat up and looked at Crowley. Not just looking, but _seeing_ _him_, his true face, twisted and warped, disfigured by his centuries in Hell.

He recoiled._ "Ew."_

* * *

**Up next: Being the ruler of Hell has its downsides.**

_**Weird Randomness!**_

0000

"Dean? Do you know why Crowley's sobbing into Cas's trenchcoat and knocking back beers like it's the end of the world again?"

Dean avoided Sam's gaze. "Nope."

0000


	24. The Boss From Hell

**CallMeAnonymous9: Do you know that you completely blew me away with that last review? You always do that. I'm constantly amazed by your ability to see into stories and the emotion behind them, which I think is incredible, and I'm glad that you share it with me.**

**Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks. You seriously astound me.**

**Disclaimer: I say, old chaps! What the deuce is this 'Supernatural' that you speak of, eh, wot, pip-pip cheerio?**

**Summary: Being the ruler of Hell has its downsides.**

* * *

_King of Hell. _Boy, was Crowley surprised when it happened. Well, he wasn't the only one.

Dean stared up at the ceiling, one leg thrown over the arm of his throne, absently twirling the First Blade with one hand. He let out a huge breath. "I'm bored. I'm so bored. Do you know how bored I am? _Really_ bored. Really, really-" he cut himself off, tilting his head slightly. There was a faint whispering, just at the edge of hearing. His brow furrowed slightly before clearing. He turned to grin at the demons that had been watching him, some warily, some with a pained expression on their faces. "Well, it looks like I'm being summoned, guys. Catch you later. Or, you know, _not_."

He disappeared.

He reappeared in a Devil's Trap. But he didn't mind.

He stretched, arching his back before relaxing and letting out a sigh. "Man, it's good to be out. You have no idea how boring it was down there. I mean, I was thinking about taking out the board games. Card games were out of the question. Those demons are just poor losers. Sulk, sulk, sulk, that's all they do. Worse than teenagers, I swear. And the angels are dicks. Except for you, Cas," he added. "You're cool."

Sam, Crowley and Castiel stared at him.

"What? I can't let loose with a little rant now and then? Well, forget you, too." Dean crossed his arms over his chest.

When Sam had asked (_threatened_) Crowley for something to summon the King of Hell (aka, Demon Dean), he'd expected many things. Just not . . . _this._

"Dean?" Sam asked cautiously.

"_Sammy_," Dean drawled. "Is this where you ask how I feel right now? If I'm experiencing any anger issues? Whether or not I feel a deep-seated need to go on a murder spree? The answer is no, but I'd really like a beer right about now." Not that he'd drink it. It wasn't like demons needed to eat or drink anything.

Man, he would really miss those TLBs.

* * *

**Next up: Not every killer wants to kill, and not every demon wants to be damned.**

_**Weird Randomness!**_

0000

Dean woke up as the King of Hell.

Really. King. Of. Hell. Seriously, who does that?

"Who's got two thumbs, a crown made of poison ivy and a throne of hellfire and brimstone? That's right. _This_ _guy_!"

0000

"I Knight thee Sir Dean of Hell."

"What? Are you kiddin'? No way, man. I'm not gonna be no lousy knight. I'm gonna be king!"

"Oh, my God, it's a usurpation! Wait, is that the right word? Whatever. _Aaaagh_!"

0000

"Oh, my God!"

"No, kinda the opposite, actually."

0000

"It's good to be King."

0000

_Total_. _Facepalm_. Or is that faceclaw?

_Whatever_ . . .

0000


	25. Implications, Insinuations and Ill-will

**AN: I'd propose to you, CallMeAnonymous9, but I'm already my sister's gay husband, and she'd just gleefully foist me off on you, anyway. And how in the world can I be a good sister to her if I don't keep up my endeavors in annoying her until she finally hires a hitman to off me, completely alienating all those who came to my funeral by playing 'Can't Touch This' as my theme song, thereby confirming her place in society as 'that insensitive weirdo ****lady who totally assassinated her slav-I mean, sister' . . .**

**She would have said 'I'd rather race through the streets naked and unashamed' at the altar if she'd had the chance. And if there'd actually been an altar. But I digress. What I'm trying to say is, _you are the be-all and end-all of the universe._ You are, in fact, _astounding._ Wear your designation with pride, my friend. You deserve it.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my bitter, bitter tears . . . And my fabulous hair, of course.**

**Summary: Sometimes killers don't want to kill, and sometimes demons don't want to be damned.**

* * *

How had this happened?

Caught in a Devil's Trap by a young hunter who thought Dean was all that and an evil bag of chips. Seriously. He must be getting old.

"I told you, the knife's not gonna work on me," he said, exasperated. "I'm a Knight of Hell, lady. At least pace yourself."

"Are you giving me advice on torturing you?" the woman asked incredulously.

"You obviously need it."

"You're insane."

"No one's ever denied it."

She growled in frustration. "What kind of demon are you?"

"Told you, I'm a Knight of Hell. Are you even listening to me?"

"Who was he?" she demanded.

"Who?"

"The poor man you're possessing!"

"Oh. He was a hunter."

"Does he . . . is he aware of what's happening?" she asked, voice softening.

"Yeah. Yeah, he is."

"What'd he ever do to you?"

Dean felt his eyes widen incredulously. "What _didn't _he do to me? He deserves what he gets. He deserves_ worse."_

"Why?"

"He ruined my life, lady. He hurt his _brother_. He couldn't do anything right."

For a moment, she stopped, confused. "You're angry because he hurt his brother?"

"I'm angry because he didn't learn to stop after the first time."

"He must have been terrible, for a demon to dislike him," she mumbled.

"Oh, he was. Sam deserved way better than what he got."

"Sam? That's his brother?"

"Yep." If the huntress hadn't known any better, she'd have said the demon was proud of this 'Sam'. But he was a demon, and so, after a brief hesitation, she disregarded the notion with a scoff. "Let me guess, Sam was a murderer or worse."

Anger flared in the demon's eyes. "He was _nothing_ of the sort," he snapped. "He was strong and brave and good and-and more _righteous_ than his brother ever could have been!"

The huntress seemed taken aback. "Oh, I-I . . ."

He slowly calmed down. "Don't insult him again," he muttered.

She simply nodded, still struck by his outburst,

In the end, she could say no more against his brother.

She just couldn't.

* * *

**Next up: Okay, the faces and hellhounds were freaky, but now this is just getting strange.**

_**Weird Randomness!**_

0000

Once again, the huntress had to wonder how it had ended up like this. It certainly hadn't started out this way, truly it hadn't. It had been going so well, and then . . . it wasn't.

". . . and this is Sam when he just turned two years old. Wasn't he cute? I mean, even his drool was adorable." The demon thrust the photo album into her face. "See? Look at his little blankie!" He looked down at the photograph fondly. "He loved that blankie . . ." He glanced up. "Are you looking?"

"I'm looking!" she said hastily.

The demon beamed. "Great!" He turned the page. "Now, this is when Sam was three, already putting his puppy-eyes into action." He sighed wistfully. "I remember those puppy-eyes." He glanced up again. "Are you looking?"

The huntress could have cried. She didn't even know where he got the damn thing in the first place.

0000


	26. Beyond the Veil

**AN: Yes! It's me! And not only have I added a new chapter, but I've also added/replaced the **_**Weird Randomness**_** parts from chapter one of Kryptonite all the way to chapter sixteen as a gift to CallMeAnonymous9 for being utterly and unabashedly magnificent. Stick with me, babe. We'll go places. Starting with your new role as Vice-President of the entire world. (****Bribery? What's that? I don't know anything of this _bribery_ of which you speak.)**

**And have no fear. There's still a couple dozen more stories to go, CallMeAnonymous9. I hope you enjoy the extra dosage of _Weird Randomness. _I know I enjoyed writing it.**

**Disclaimer: Supernatural . . . Supernatural . . . wait, wait, I have this one! Supernatural . . . nope, I've got nothing.**

**Summary: ****Okay, the faces and hellhounds were freaky, but now this is just getting strange.**

* * *

"Hey, Dean."

Dean glanced up distractedly. His hallucinations had been making him a bit jumpier than usual. "Hey, S-" He choked.

Sam blinked at him, his fluffy tail slowing in its wagging. On his head were a pair of furry, floppy dog ears. Golden retriever, if he was correct. "What is it, Dean? Another hallucination?" he asked, concerned. One of his ears flopped over.

"Uhh . . . yeah . . ."

"What are you seeing this time?"

Dean wasn't quite sure how to answer that.

* * *

**Next up: There's no such thing as coincidence.**

_**Weird Randomness!**_

0000

"Do I _look_ like a ditch-able prom date to you?" Bobby demanded.

The blood drained from Dean's face.

Bobby's brow furrowed. "Dean? I don't, do I?"

Silence.

"Dean?"

Dean made a garbling sound, then fell face-down on the ground.

Sam nudged him with his foot. "Is he dead?"

0000

"Are you kidding me?" Lilith said loudly. "I'm not taking this guy! He's sick! _Sick_, I tell you!"

Azazel facepalmed.

0000

And thus, the Apocalypse was averted.

0000

Crowley didn't know whether to laugh or just start crying until things made sense again.

0000


	27. Away From the Sun

**AN: I know, I know, I'm late. I'm so late. If you knew where I lived, you'd stage a protest until a policeman arrested you for stalking, assault, and just general creepiness. I didn't mean to hold it off for so long, but somehow it just . . . _happened._ I'll try to do better. Give me another chance, baby. I can still change. It's me, not you. **

**I'm lying. It's you. It's all you.**

**(Don't kill me. I've got mad ninja skillz and I know how to use them. Kind of.)**

**Disclaimer: If I own Supernatural, then you've got a beachfront property to sell me. A beachfront property in the North Pole. With Santa as my butler and Mrs. Claus as my person maid-slash-professional assassin. **

**Boy, if I owned Supernatural, you might just have yourself a deal.**

**The quote disguising itself as the infamous _Next-Up_ is owned by crazy-super-awesome genius Dr. Seuss.**

**Summary: There's no such thing as coincidence.**

* * *

_Light._

_Pure, brilliant, unadulterated light. He could feel the cracks in the Cage. The fires that burned him from the inside out were flickering, almost as if being doused._

_He was falling._

_And then he was breaking, coming apart upon the ground even as he felt more alive than ever before, singed feathers drifting down from the sky to surround him._

_Darkness._

* * *

**_Consciousness._**

* * *

He opened his eyes.

A face in his line of sight, expression concerned. "Hey, you okay?"

"Where am I?" he rasped.

"My couch."

"What?"

"You're on my couch."

"How . . . ? Why? I was . . . I am free of the Cage?"

"Cage?" The kid seemed surprised. "Dude, what are you talking about?"

He struggled to sit up, hissing as his unseen fractured wings moved.

"Hey, careful. You're hurt pretty bad."

_Why would you care?_ "I don't understand."

"_You_," he pronounced with exaggerated slowness. "Hurt._ Ouch."_

He grimaced. "Very amusing."

"I know," the kid said without batting an eyelash. "What's your name?"

He opened his mouth, then drew a blank. He sent the kid an enquiring glance. "What _is_ my name?"

"That's what I'm asking you. You don't remember?"

He furrowed his brow, thinking for a moment. Then he snapped his fingers. "_Lucifer_," he said triumphantly.

The kid snorted. "You're name's actually Lucifer? Wow. I suddenly feel an inexplicable sense of kinship with you." He held out a hand. "I'm Adam."

Lucifer took it. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"You, too." He let go. "So what's this about a cage?"

Lucifer looked at him blankly. "What cage?"

"You just said it a few minutes ago."

"Oh, that Cage."

Adam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, _that_ cage."

_I'm the Devil. No, I kid, I'm actually your long-lost cousin twice removed. You see, my good man, I'd been kidnapped and lived as an English slave until, finally, I won my freedom in an invigorating game of Go Fish. It was a deucedly good show, eh, wot? Smashing! _"I'd like my brother now," Lucifer said.

"Who's your brother?"

"Michael."

_"No."_

"Yes."

Adam snorted. "Your parents must've been pretty obsessive."

"Perhaps a bit," he conceded.

"Look, what's your brother's number? I'll call him."

"Number?"

"You can at least remember that much, right?"

Lucifer imagined Michael on a cell phone. Or texting.

_Dear little-bro,_

_How's life in the Pit? Still burning in the fires of a thousand suns? Not much has happened here in Paradise, other then the preparations for the coming Apocalypse. Can't wait to kill you dead, bro. TTYL, _

_Michael the Archangel._

He sniggered.

Adam looked at him curiously. "What?"

"Michael is not entirely invested in this new century," he explained. "It's hard to imagine him even having a phone, much less answering it."

Adam stared at him. "What kind of weird-ass family do you have?"

"One of the weirdest."

"That's obvious. What's your last name?"

"I don't have one?" It came out as a question.

"You don't remember it?"

"No."

Adam sighed. "Well, we can't exactly call you Lucifer I-Don't-Know, so you're going to need a new last name before we find out your real one. And it better not be Morningstar."

"Why not?"

"Come on. Lucifer Morningstar? No one'd believe it."

"Have you any suggestions?"

"Uh. Well, your brother."

"Yes?"

"How about Luc Michaels?"

"Alright," Lucifer agreed.

They were officially illegal conspirators.

* * *

**Next up: Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind.**

_**Weird Randomness!**_

0000

"I say, old chap, have you got any twos?"

"Damn you, you blackguard," his jailor cursed, throwing two matching Go Fish cards his way. "Devilishly good luck you've got there."

"My good fellow, what can I say?" Lucifer quipped. "I'm a Hell of a gambler."

0000

Up in Heaven, Michael squinted at the screen of his iPhone, concentrating as he stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth. _Nd . . . of . . . Dayz . . . s00n. C . . . U . . . there. L8er . . . bro. Sty . . . Dmonic. _"L . . . O . . . L," he said aloud, typing in the three remaining letters.

0000

Chuck facepalmed.

The Apocalypse had never been so friendly before.

0000


	28. The Truth Shall Set Ye Free

**AN: CallMeAnonymous9, I tell ya, you are doing wonders for my ego, and it already needed no encouragement. I give you my sincere thanks. Without you, I would be severely deprived. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. However, I do own my witty riposte, and that in itself is damn satisfying.**

**Summary: Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind.**

**Summary quote by Dr. Seuss.**

* * *

He saw a monster in the mirror.

Black eyes, dark skin, sharp nails, razor teeth, growling voice, fiendish smile. The only thing that hadn't changed since he got back from Hell was his hair.

He wondered sometimes why no one else could see it; he was right there in front of them. It seemed the only ones who could see him were a few other monsters. He knew when they saw him by the light in their eyes, suggesting either fear or amusement.

Should it be the latter, they weren't amused for long.

"You ready to go, Dean?" his brother said.

He turned, smiled that same twisted curving of the lips, somehow genuine despite its warped ways. "You have to ask?"

Sam smiled back. "Didn't want to have to put up with your whining if we left before you were ready."

Thank God Sam couldn't see him for what he was.

* * *

Dean crouched over his unconscious brother, clawed hand settled gently in his hair.

A witch more powerful than they'd expected had sent them into some kind of dream world, one where he couldn't hide in the form of humanity.

He supposed the disguise had to be torn away sometime.

Sammy opened his eyes and blinked slowly at him. "Dean?"

He smiled down at his brother and held up his free hand. "Hey, Sammy. How many fingers am I holding up?"

Sam squinted at him. "Uh . . . five?"

"Close enough." He lowered the two fingers and helped Sam up. "You feelin' alright?"

"Well, the room's kinda spinning and . . . _whoa."_

"What?"

"Where did you get those extra ears?"

Dean patted him on the shoulder. "I borrowed yours."

"Whoa."

Yeah, he was out of it.

"Did you grow out your nails?"

"Yeah, Sammy. Had to wait a few years, but now they're my pride and joy."

Sam looked at him sadly. "I thought that was me."

"Sure, dude. They're my second pride and joy. You're my first."

"Thanks, Dean."

"Anytime."

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you a demon?"

"I dunno. Why?"

"Your eyes look kinda black."

"You scared?"

"Nahhhhhhhh."

"A bit too much 'ahhh' there, buddy."

"Sorry."

"Don't worry about it."

"Are you a vampire?"

"No."

"You've got really sharp teeth."

"They're my third pride and joy."

"Oh. You sound like you're gargling gravel."

"That's because I did, just five minutes ago."

Sam seemed fascinated. "What was that like?"

"I'm sure not doing it again, if that's what you're asking."

"Was it traumatizing?"

"Very."

Sam patted him on the cheek. "I'm sorry you're traumatized, Dean."

"Nah, s'fine."

"Really?"

"Really."

He gazed at Dean. "Do you need a hug?"

"Think we can wait on that, dude."

"Okay. Where's Cas?"

"Surfing in Guatemala."

"Wearing his trenchcoat?"

"No way, man. No one surfs in a trenchcoat."

"I hope he remembered to use sunscreen."

"He's an angel, Sam. I don't think he needs sunscreen."

"Oh. Right. Where's the Impala?"

"Safe outside the dream, thank God."

"We're in a dream?"

"You got it."

"Is that why you've got black eyes and sharp teeth?"

"Nah, I'm like this all the time, you just don't see it."

"Why not?"

"Dunno."

"I love you no matter what you look like," Sam declared.

"Thanks, Sammy. I'll make sure to remember that the next time I get an Afro."

Sam's eyes widened. "Don't get an Afro."

"You don't think I'd look good in one?"

"No. Afros scare me, Dean."

"Seriously?"

Sam gazed solemnly at him. "Seriously."

"That's . . . interesting."

This conversation was going to be repeated. Several times a day. Sam wouldn't know what hit him.

Well. He still didn't know what hit him, but whatever . . .

* * *

**Next up: In which Dean Winchester is Saved. **

_**Weird Randomness!**_

0000

An unwelcome hand jostled his shoulder. "Yo, Sam. It's time to get up, dude."

Sam groaned. "Dean?"

"S'me, little brother."

He cracked open his eyes to squint at the clock on the bedside table before turning his gaze to Dean. Upon seeing his older sibling, he yelled and threw himself away from him. A horrified expression fixed on his face, he pointed a trembling finger at the _creature_ atop Dean's head. "What . . ."

Dean patted his hair. "Oh, this? It's an Afro."

Sam's scream was heard for miles.

0000

Castiel blinked. He turned to one of his nearby fellow surfers. "Did you hear s-" A wave swallowed him whole.

After a minute, his surfboard made an appearance.

Someone broke the preceding silence. "Is he dead?"

0000

Cas awoke on an abandoned beach. He tried to move, but his body involuntarily flinched. "My back," he realized. "Did I dislodge a disc? Did something happen while I was In the water?" His eyes widened. "Am I _dying_?"

A fish that was flopping in open air beside him paused to give him a look, as if to say, _It's just a sunburn, you dork._

"I see," he said. "My apologies." He peered closer. "I must say, I didn't know fish were so attuned to the human language that they could decipher and use terms such as the word 'dork'."

_We're not_._ I'm not even talking to you. I'm dead, you idiot. Jesus._

Cas studied it. "You know, your voice seems to have an eerie resemblance to Dean's."

The deceased fish gave up. Well, as much as something that was deceased could, anyway.

0000


	29. Open Up Your Eyes

Open Up Your Eyes (See the World Without Your Sorrow)

**AN: I meant to update sooner . . . Okay, you're right, I have no excuse. My apologies for being late. CallMeAnonymous9, as always, I friggin' adore you, flagrant flatterer that you are.**

**Anyways, I have a question for you about the next chapter. It's genre could probably-no, could definitely be horror, so do you want me to skip it and go right on to unashamed humor? It's your choice.**

**Disclaimer: A girl and a disclaimer walk into a bar. Neither of the two own Supernatural (especially the disclaimer), which is probably why they're at the bar in the first place.**

**Summary: In which Dean Winchester is Saved.**

* * *

Souls curled about his horns and twined around his claws. They slid over scaled skin and perched atop broad shoulders. They hissed, "_Listen. Listen. Listen, listen. Listen._"

He paused. There was the sound of wings and the clash of forces. The demon asked, _What is that?_ He was unaware that he did not speak aloud.

"_That, our demonic friend, is salvation._" They gave a wheezing laugh. "_Yours, to be precise._"

_Mine? Why?_

A soul, held in the palm of his clawed hand, whispered in a surprisingly childish voice, "_Because you are Dean Winchester._"

_Am I? Not simply Demon, then?_

"_Remember your name,_" they told him, "_for you shall need it._"

He felt an angel's palms settle upon his shoulders.

"_Dean Winchester,_" the souls sighed, hissed, laughed, cried, "_you are saved!_"

There was white.

A soul said, "_Dammit, turn down the light show!_"

Then Dean Winchester was gone.

"_Blasted angels,_" another one grumbled.

* * *

Dean Winchester stumbled away from the grave he had just crawled out of. He glanced around and saw nothing but trees surrounding him. He lifted a hand to scratch his head and realized- _wow! Look at that! A human hand!_

He marveled at the rough yet soft skin and the fingers with short nails- _not claws! _He slid his other hand up his arm and realized that he was like that everywhere- rough, yet soft. Human.

_Extraordinary_!

Brightened considerably, he ambled along until he reached a road, which he then followed. He soon reached a convenience store. And a phone.

He quickly broke into the store, stole some food (_food! Wow!_), some money, and, after a moment in which a high-pitched noise broke the windows and nearly his eardrums, went over to the phone.

He stared at it, wondering who Dean Winchester would call- for he wasn't entirely convinced that this Dean person was he.

He pondered. If you didn't remember that you were someone, were you still that same person?

_Whatever_.

He finished the call and left. He began to whistle as he walked down the road, swinging a plastic bag filled with his stolen goods. Except for the money. That he kept in the pocket of his jeans. And that, too, was remarkable.

* * *

**Next up: "Sometimes I see Lucifer when I friggin' brush my teeth."**

_**Weird Randomness!**_

0000

The numbers in his mind (_actual numbers!_) helped him in his predicament. He dialed them in and waited for someone to answer.

_Click._ "This is Singer. Who is this?" a _real human being _asked.

"I'm not sure," he replied, "but I think I'm Dean Winchester. I was hoping you would know."

There was a moment of silence. Then Singer said, "I'm hanging up. If you call again-"

He was elated. "May I?"

He was curious to hear the sound of what seemed to be Singer gritting his teeth. And rather violently, from what he could tell. "If you call again-"

"I don't know if I'll remember how," he admitted. "I mean, I hope so- wait, do you have_ a beard_?"

". . . are you off your rocker?"

"Can I be?" he asked eagerly. "Is that possible? Because I couldn't tell before and there wasn't anyone who could give me a credible opinion Down where I was."

"Idjit." Then Singer hung up.

He put the telephone back (_phones! Portable communication! Wow! What will they think of next?_) and let himself out of the booth.

Today was going to be good, he just knew it.

0000


	30. Health Scare (Literally)

**AN: I lost my mojo for awhile there. Like, really lost it. Just **_**gone**_**. I'm really sorry about that. However, to be fair, no one told me whether they wanted an unbelievable amount of angst or utter and unadulterated crack. I was torn. **

**I didn't know whether you'd enjoy the angst, so here. Utter and unadulterated crack. I hope you like it. It sure was fun writing it.**

**Summary: "Sometimes I see Lucifer when I friggin' brush my teeth."**

* * *

"Have you flossed yet? You haven't, have you," the Devil accused. "Well, what are you waiting for? You know how important oral hygiene is. Are you just going to waste all those years of toothpastes on a lack of dental floss? Don't do that, it's despicable. _Ugh_. Where's your mouthwash? No, don't just walk away. No. Sam, mouthwash. _Now_."

"Why are you doing this?" Sam cried. "Is this some kind of sick joke to you?"

Lucifer gave him an incredulous look. "Are you kidding me? What's funny about oral hygiene?"

Right now? _Absolutely nothing._

* * *

**Next up: The Prince of Hell, Lord of Purgatory and Knight of Heaven meet up for coffee.**

_**Weird Randomness!**_

0000

"Uh, Sam? Aren't you taking this a bit far? You've used up two whole bottles of toothpaste in two weeks. Which should be impossible. Sam? Why're you crying? Sam?"

0000


	31. Fickle Fate

**CallMeAnonymous9: Don't feel bad about it. It's fine, really. Thank you so much for the comment. They're always so wonderful. And I'd like to know your opinion on the horror chapter I spoke of. Which is a completely different one from the 'oral hygiene' thing. Utterly unrelated at all. Sorry. I guess I should have clarified that. ****So, should I add it to Kryptonite or just leave it out? The summary is: **_**He was gazing right into the abyss, and you know what? It couldn't bear to gaze back at him.**_** What do you think?**

**Viper's Little Devil: I'm glad you like it.**

**Summary: The Prince of Hell, Lord of Purgatory and Knight of Heaven meet up for coffee.**

* * *

On days like this, damp, grey, clouds about ready to burst with rain, it was nice to just sit inside a warm restaurant and sip hot coffee with your friends and/or family.

This is where we find the Prince of Hell, Lord of Purgatory, and the Knight of Heaven.

Sam sighed as he wrapped his hands around a mug of coffee. "It's nice to be out of Hell. After a while, all that brimstone and hellfire kind of gets old."

"Who'd you leave in charge?" Dean asked, drinking some of his own coffee.

"Crowley. He's the only one I trust not to get carried away with the power. I definitely wouldn't trust Alastair with it."

Dean winced at the very thought. "Whoa, yeah. Good choice. What about you, Cas? How are you doing?"

"I am well. Gadreel and Raphael have gone to Nebraska to investigate a series of wishes that appear to have been granted. I believe they are enjoying the snow."

Dean grinned at the image that invoked, of the two stoic angels building snowmen, having snowball fights, and leaving snow angels with imprints of long, feathery wings that would perplex and confound the townspeople.

Sam eyed his brother, who was snickering into his coffee. Cas seemed to find it completely normal as he sipped his own mug of the dark liquid, his expression unchanging.

Sam inwardly shrugged and asked, "How about you, Dean?"

"Hmm? Oh, well I've been fine. Benny's been a great help. I have been having some Leviathan problems, though. Nothing to worry about. The main guy who's been giving me trouble calls himself Dick." Dean snorted. "Seriously, who would choose to be called that? I'm fine, Sam. Nothing I can't handle."

"I believe there is not much that you can't handle, Dean," Castiel said.

"That's true, Cas. For all of us." Dean's lips tilted upward. "We're pretty badass, aren't we?"

Sam and Cas (who'd had the term 'badass' explained to him already) concurred.

* * *

**Next up: Someday, Dean will wake up to a normal day. Sunshine, birdsong, fresh coffee, all the works. That day is not today.**

_**Weird Randomness!**_

0000

Dean was Lord of Purgatory, yes. But it was like he was also co-King of Hell. He helped his brother and his brother helped him. That was why, when he asked for pie, he got the pie.

Still. Alastair contemplated buying a vegetable pie instead of the usual fruit one. Do a job badly enough, after all, and you're never asked to do it again.

He got the vegetable pie, because, _dammit, Jim, _he was a torturer, not a delivery boy.

He walked out of the store, plastic bag held in one hand, whistling a catchy tune that would haunt several people who heard it for the rest of the day. Because, even when he was just fetching pie, he had to torment people.

0000

"Get me more espresso! An X-box! Sugar glazed donuts! A flat-screen TV the size of a wall! _Even more_ espresso!" Crowley cackled. "For I am _king!_"

0000

"Gadreel! Quickly! One of our brothers has died!"

"Show me."

The sound of shuffling.

Then, "Raphael . . . that's a snow angel."

A moment of silence.

". . . I knew that."

0000

"You're such a dick, Dick," one of the shapeshifters called.

"Yeah. A real dick, you are," someone else added.

"The worst kind of dick."

"What a dick."

"I thought his name was Richard," a puzzled werewolf said.

Deafening silence.

"Just . . . don't talk, Lyle. Like, at all. Jesus."

When Dean came back, Benny was going to get a raise. _A big one._

0000


	32. Time and Again

**CallMeAnonymous9: You give the greatest reviews, you know that? And thanks for telling me whether you wanted to read the chapter or not. It'll be up next.**

**Summary: ****Someday, Dean will wake up to a normal day. Sunshine, birdsong, fresh coffee, all the works. That day is not today.**

* * *

He opened his eyes. Then he took in his surroundings, and bolted upright in his chair.

Kevin 'Not-Dead' Tran startled at the abrupt movement, nearly dropping his book. "Dean?"

He stared at him. "Kevin, you're . . . corporeal."

Not-Dead looked at him as if he were insane. Which, alarmingly, was not too far off in the range of impossibilities.

He decided to investigate. By poking Kevin in the arm.

Not-Dead leaned away, his expression unsettled. "Was there something you wanted, Dean?"

Why, yes. Yes, there was. A sane life, please, thank you, it wasn't gonna happen, was it?

"Nah." He relaxed back into the chair. "It was probably just a dream."

Just a dream, his little brother's beautifully conditioned hair.

* * *

**Next up: He was gazing right into the abyss, and you know what? It couldn't bear to gaze back at him.**

_**Weird Randomness!**_

0000

"Dean? We're out of conditioner!" Sam shouted from inside the shower.

Dean snorted, rolling his eyes. "Suck it up, Sammy," he called. "Don't let it upset your delicate sensibilities. You can live without your girl products for a day."

"Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you."

Dean snickered. "You're such a drama queen, Samantha."

It was five more minutes before Sam got out of the shower, and ten more while he blow-dried his hair.

Dean looked up to the sound of Sasquatch feet approaching. "Finally. You take forev-" Then he saw the thing standing in the doorway and shrieked. He dived behind the couch, yelling, "Mayday, Cas, mayday! Cas! _Friggin_' _mayday!_"

Cas appeared in the middle of the room. "Dean? What is . . ." Then he, too, noticed The Thing, and starting slowly backing away. "What is it, Dean?" he whispered, eyes wide.

"No idea," Dean whispered furiously back. "Kill it, Cas! Kill it!"

The Thing looked annoyed. "I'm not _that_ bad."

"Sam? Cas, did you hear Sam's voice? _Oh my god, it ate Sam!_"

They never ran out of conditioner again.

0000


	33. Your Reflection Staring Back at You

**AN: Sorry for the wait. I would have put up the chapter yesterday, except the time got away from me and before I knew it, it was already time for bed. And I was sick the night before last, too, so I was still feeling the effects. My apologies.**

**Warnings: Language.**

**Summary: Horror. He was gazing right into the abyss, and you know what? It couldn't bear to gaze back at him.**

* * *

A wall.

In his mind. He could feel it.

Huge and cold, it burned if he tried to touch it. Keeping things away, protecting him from himself.

Or was it others? Protecting others from himself? Protecting himself from others? Did it even matter? He wasn't sure, but the thought that no one cared didn't bother him. If every little thing that came along bothered him, he'd be dead already.

Well . . . shit. He really just said that, didn't he? _Dead already._ He'd laugh, except he couldn't feel his lips. Or his throat. Or his lungs . . . unless . . . was that a lung? You had to be able to know your own lungs, right? Then it was definitely his lung. One of them, at least.

He felt it cracking, that wall. Just a little bit. Just enough that a tendril of darkness came through. You'd think a crack would show light, but no. It was black, all of it. Black and bloody.

No matter. Who would care, anyway? Right now, he didn't care about much of anything.

Except a pillow. Talk about discomfort. No one checked up on him, asked him if he wanted a hug or anything. Well, he didn't. If someone asked, then it was obvious that they were the ones in need of a hug. Was he thinking too hard about this? He was, wasn't he? _Stop thinking. Right now._

Dammit. There were those asshole souls again, shouting at him for . . . something . . . were they shouting? They were shouting, weren't they? He couldn't tell if he had ears. He had to have ears, right? Right? Well? Oh, forget it. _Fucking ears . . ._

_"You lied,"_ whispered something from out of the darkness. _"You lied."_

_Get it through your head if you have one, pal. Everyone lies._

"_Why?_"

Why? Why not? Did you need a reason to lie?

_"Liar,"_ it said, and the only thing in its tone was disappointment. And insanity, of course, but mostly disappointment.

Well, thanks. _Anything else you'd like to share with me?_

"_Angels,_" it said with glee.

Angels? What angels? Were there angels? With wings and halos and pure, pure light and _You filth all mud and dirt and blood like a physical sin you make me sick Father's favorite creation but you're nothing you're __**nothing **_in their pure, pure voices while they look at him as if he's one grain in a desert of sand, and what does one little grain matter, in the whole?

Some wall he had there. He wondered if an archangel could feel it. Maybe, but then again . . . And there was also still the question of who gave it to him. He wanted to thank them. All that was keeping him relatively sane, the wall.

Unless he wasn't sane. Unless he was so crazy that he only thought he was sane. That could happen, right? It could totally happen.

God knows . . . wait, _God_? Was there a God? Was He _real_? He'd like to know, if He was. Say a few words to Him, after his tongue grew back, maybe "_Nice world you have there. Bit cold._"

Was rather cold now, actually. He'd like a blanket, and he'd complain about it, but no one was there to hear him. Well, not right then, but someone would be there soon. Not that they'd give him a blanket anyway, but at least he wouldn't suffer alone. He was absolutely prepared to curse them out, say a few things about their mothers . . . did demons even have mothers? _Damn_, _there goes that insult._

He wanted to move, but there was something holding him down . . . tying him down, really. He couldn't tell what it was, could be chains. Or human bone. Inhuman bone? Whatever. It chafed a bit, too. Wait. Did he have wrists to be chafed? Did he even have arms? Hands? He was starting to feel a little insecure about this . . .

_Fuck_. Someone was screaming. They were giving him a headache, and it really didn't help that he was missing an eye and a part of his friggin' skull. Dammit.

_Stop_ _screaming_.

Stop screaming. Now.

Stop- oh. _Ohh, no wonder._ Well, didn't he feel silly.

He'd been the one screaming all along.

* * *

**Next up: ****In which Adam is a bird-whisperer and Michael and Lucifer are brothers instead of enemies.**

_**Weird Randomness!**_

0000

Life was tough here in Sandland.

Particularly for a handsome grain called Dean. You see, Dean's mother had been washed out to sea when he was very young, leaving him with his father, John, and his brother grain, Sam.

Now, this wouldn't have had quite the impact on them that it did, except John had soon realized that Mary's death wasn't a natural one. With the help of a feisty dark-colored grain named Missouri, John discovered that what had actually killed Mary was a creature that he had only ever known as a myth . . . _a Human Being._

This human being was called the Yellow-Grained Human because of the color of its outer grain. In all the stories ever told to him of the humans, John had only ever heard ones of horror. They were fundamentally evil, he'd just never really known how much.

John swore bitterly, then and there, to kill the Yellow-Grained Human.

It may have gotten away with killing other grains, but not this time. This time, it would pay.

0000

"_Ow!_"

His friend blinked. "Azazel? What happened?"

"I think I stepped on a piece of glass or something," Azazel muttered, peering down at his foot. The only thing he could see was sand.

Alistair sighed. "They were supposed to have cleaned this beach."

Crowley snorted. "This is why I always say you can never trust someone else to do the job for you."

0000

Yes! John had wounded the beast!

Now for the killing blow . . .

0000

Azazel tripped.

"You're being unusually clumsy today, Azazel," Alistair said, amusement curling the edges of his mouth.

Crowley shook his head. "Idiot."

0000

The Yellow-Grained Human was down! John had finally completed his mission . . . it was all over. He had done it.

He had won.

0000

"I think I sprained my ankle."

"Poor you," Crowley said blandly.

Alistair looked down at him. "You know, when you're on the ground like this, it's almost like you're groveling at my feet."

Azazel gazed up at them. "You know what a doctor would prescribe? New friends. Nice ones."

"Those are out of stock," Crowley said.

Alistair rolled his eyes. "Good luck with that." The words _Come back to me when you find people who actually want to be in your worthless life_ hung in the air, unsaid.

_That's it._ Next time, Azazel was going on vacation alone.


End file.
